


Forgive Us Our Sins

by CiaraK_1996



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Catholic School, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Homosexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Male Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male Crowley (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Pansexual Crowley (Good Omens), Past Sexual Assault, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roommates, Sins, Slow Burn, Smut, True Love, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 69,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaraK_1996/pseuds/CiaraK_1996
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley is a school bad-boy on his final, final, final warning. As an attempt to rid him of his bad influences, he is paired with a quiet bookworm called Aziraphale Z. Fell; a shy boy who struggles with his sexuality in a Catholic boarding school in Oxfordshire. The two teenagers struggle to balance their very different lives, and very different pasts.





	1. Bad Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys. I am neither Catholic, male, nor have I ever attended boarding school - so please don't judge too harshly.  
For those of you who have not gone to school in the UK, secondary school works as follows:  
Year 7 - 11-12 years old  
Year 8 - 12-13 years old  
Year 9 - 13-14 years old  
Year 10 (GCSE year) - 14-15  
Year 11 - (GCSE year 2) - 15-16  
Lower Sixth Form (Year 12/starting A Levels/College) - 16-17  
Upper Sixth Form (Year 13/finishing A Levels/College) - 17-18  
Aziraphale and Crowley are 16 at the beginning of this fic (legal age of consent in England)
> 
> No smut in this chapter I'm afraid, nor any violence - I will warn you when it comes up in later chapters.

School was the worst, and yet also the best. All his friends were here, and it meant he was away from his waste-of-space father, but it was school and bad boys always hated school. The absolute worst part, Crowley thought as his dad drove him and his sister up the driveway, was that it was a Catholic boarding school.

Part of the divorce settlement, eight years ago, was that their father would get custody, but they had to attend this school. Their mother had money, which she did not like to part with unless it was for her drugs, but she had faith and she wanted to piss off her ex-husband more than she already had. So, they attended a religious secondary school, in the middle of nowhere because their parents were effectively stubborn, selfish children.

Crowley looked to his younger sister in the seat next to him and frowned; she was always texting, what could she possibly have left to say about her boring summer buying shoes that were against school regulations and would, therefore, have no occasion to wear them?

“What?” Lily snapped, suddenly meeting her brother’s gaze.

“Aren’t your friends tired of you yet?” Crowley sneered.

“Fuck off!” The girl retorted.

“Hey!” Their father yelled from the driver’s seat, trying to find a place to park his tatty Peugeot amongst the BMWs, Jaguars, and Porsches, “I swear to God! If either of you get suspended this year, I’m giving you back to your mother!”

Crowley and his sister exchanged angry glances and said nothing. Crowley missed most of year nine, having been suspended for fighting and smoking; thankfully no one realised _what_ he had been smoking behind the greenhouses. His parents had to fight with Ms Godwin to take him back to start his GCSEs, and none of them were particularly happy about it. Least of all Crowley, who was forced to share a room with someone Ms Godwin deemed ‘good’; he had three different roommates in year ten, and two last year. He was now in the Lower Sixth, starting his A Levels, and Ms Godwin had made it quite clear that his next roommate was permanent, or he was permanently out of the school.

Their father parked and turned around to them, “Right, Anthony: best bloody behaviour this year. Last chance.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and undid his seat belt before fighting his way out of the rusty piece of junk his father insisted was a car.

“Lilith,” Their father continued, ignoring Crowley’s attempts to escape and Lily’s protests at being called ‘Lilith’, “Do your homework and don’t do anything he does.”

Crowley stopped and smirked, “What if I do my homework?”

“It would mean the apocalypse is upon us,” Their dad stated flatly.

They got out of the car and Crowley grabbed his stuff and made his way towards the school without a glance back. _Home sweet home_, he thought bitterly. He dragged his suitcase along the gravel and struggled to keep his box in his grasp as he made his way through the crowd of students and tearful parents who could not wait to be rid of their little monsters. He made his way to St Edgar’s Building; Sixth Form Boys Dormitory. He struggled to get inside before finally setting his box on the floor and digging through his bag to find his letter.

_Dear Anthony J Crowley,_

_ We welcome you to another year at Tadfield Academy. Please find your booklist enclosed (at least pretend to read something relevant). Your class timetable is as follows (you must attend at least one class a day to stay in this school – you must also attend the compulsory study sessions):_

_Art – Mrs Tracy – St John’s Room 202_

_Geography – Mr Leslie – St Catherine’s Room 7_

_Science – Mr Chalky – St John’s Room 11_

_History – Mr Shadwell – St Matthew’s Room 402_

| 

**09:00**

| 

**10:00**

| 

**11:00**

| 

**12:00**

| 

**13:00**

| 

**14:00**

| 

**15:00**

| 

**16:00**  
  
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---  
  
**Monday**

| 

Bible

| 

Art

| 

Art

| 

Lunch

| 

Geog

| 

Geog

| 

Science

| 

Study  
  
**Tuesday**

| 

Bible

| 

| 

| 

Lunch

| 

Art

| 

Art

| 

Geog

| 

PE  
  
**Wednesday**

| 

Bible

| 

Science

| 

Science

| 

Lunch

| 

History

| 

History

| 

| 

Study  
  
**Thursday**

| 

Bible

| 

Geog

| 

Geog

| 

Lunch

| 

Science

| 

Science

| 

History

| 

PE  
  
**Friday**

| 

Bible

| 

| 

| 

Lunch

| 

History

| 

History

| 

Art

| 

Study  
  
_As a student in the Upper Sixth, you are expected to provide an example to the younger students – you will therefore be requested to help them settle in and find their way around (I hear anything untoward and you will be expelled)._

_ As a student in the Upper Sixth, you will be in St Edgar’s Dormitory – Room 4004. Should you be unhappy with your chosen roommate, you may call your father and return home._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Ms J. A. Godwin_

Crowley crumpled up the letter and shoved it back in his bag. He picked up his belongings and began hefting them up the stairs towards the fourth floor; knowing all too well that the lift would have a queue. Eventually, he reached the fourth floor, thinking vaguely that he should consider quitting smoking. After a few deep breaths, he made his way down the corridor to find room _4004_.

Crowley sighed, pushing a strand of sweaty red hair out of his eyes as he set the box on the floor beside his suitcase and looked at the label on the door: A. J. Crowley & A. Z. Fell.

Crowley shrugged; he had not really expected to recognise the name on the door given that he never paid attention in any of the very few classes he had attended over the years. All in all, he was just glad he was not sharing with Mr fuck-tard Sandalphon again. He opened the door to find a spacious, plainly decorated room, with two single beds against opposite walls with matching bedside tables with old lamps and a two-seat couch in between (perks of being in the sixth form). There was a closet and a chest of draws each, and two writing desks on the same wall as the door into the room. The room was suspiciously empty. At first, he decided his new roommate was probably still crying at his mother, but then he spotted things; the old leather suitcase neatly tucked under the bed, the folded tartan pyjamas on the pillow, the books on the shelves, the photo of a heavenly sunrise beside the bed.

_Dork_, Crowley decided, some nerd that was excited to be at school and learn things. He dragged his things to the bed on the right and began unpacking the box. He carefully lifted out his orchid and placed in on his bedside table before delicately extracting his two cactuses. Then he grabbed his CDs, pens, paper, and paints, and shoved them wherever he thought was sensible. He then unpacked his suitcase which was mostly full of the school’s bland uniform; two medium grey blazers, three black jumpers, several white shirts, and several pairs of smart black trousers. The school lacked houses because it led to sins such as pride, envy, and wrath, so they were all the same and colourless. Crowley then shoved his own clothes for weekends in his closet; t-shirts and vest, and skinny black jeans mostly.

When he had finished, he sat on his bed and found himself staring at A. Z. Fell’s belongings, trying to figure him out. There were far more books than he had originally realised, he had thought that this guy would be boring, but then he started reading the spines; Oscar Wilde, Ovid, Homer, Aristophanes, Euripides, the Bröntes, Shakespeare, Jane Austin, George Orwell, Charles Dickens, John Steinbeck, and countless others. Crowley stared at the creased spines and tattered covers, realising each one had been read repeatedly and loved. He found himself poking through his roommate’s things, he had a vinyl collection of classical music and was not entirely surprised to find a record player at the bottom of his closet. The closet was mostly full of uniform, just like Crowley’s, only Mr Fell’s personal clothes were also smart, though a little more colourful in the different shades of beige and grey.

Crowley returned to his bed, becoming more and more curious towards his mysterious roommate when he heard someone at the door. A boy around his age stumbled in holding a box of yet more books and stopped short staring at Crowley with wide ocean-blue eyes. He was unsurprisingly wearing a beige three-piece suit and a blue tartan bowtie around his neck. He wore a gold signet ring, like most of the posh boys, though instead of a crest, his appeared to have wings. He was crowned with curls of white-gold curls which reflected the light like a halo. Then he smiled.

_Oh no_, Crowley thought, _he’s cute._

*** * ***

Aziraphale stopped in the doorway, the sight of the redhead had startled him, but then sharing rooms was part of the experience. He set the box down and turned to the stranger, “You must be Mr Crowley.”

The redhead grimaced, “Crowley’s fine. You must be Mr Fell.”

They shook hands, Aziraphale hated how clammy his hands felt and worried it was due to the prospect of sharing a bedroom with this boy, and then he remembered the box of books he had left by the door, “Aziraphale’s fine.”

“Aziraphale Fell?” Crowley mocked, “Please tell me your middle name doesn’t rhyme too?”

“Zachariah,” Aziraphale corrected, and turned away from Crowley’s judgement, even behind the sunglasses he could feel it.

“Aziraphale Zachariah?” He said slowly, as if tasting a fine wine, “Your parents must hate you.”

Aziraphale slumped, maybe this was not going to be as fun as he had hoped; he had not had the best of experience with roommates over the years. He placed the box of books on his bed and began unpacking them, glancing momentarily at Crowley; he was wearing skinny black jeans, a red V-neck top that matched his shoulder-length dark red hair, a black leather jacket, and biker boots. For some reason he was wearing sunglasses inside, which Aziraphale could excuse if it had not been a gloomy September morning outside. Upon first appearances, this redhead was devilishly handsome and completely out of Aziraphale’s league.

“My mother likes angels,” Aziraphale retorted, trying to ignore his sinful thoughts, “Aziraphale is the name of an angel in Eden. Zachariah is Biblical too.”

He saw the redhead shrug, “My first name is Anthony, so I can’t talk much.”

“Good to meet you Anthony,” Aziraphale said politely.

“Ugh,” Crowley grimaced, “Please call me Crowley.”

“Oh, okay,” Aziraphale stammered nervously, “What does the ‘J’ stand for?”

“Huh?”

“A. J. Crowley,” Aziraphale muttered, “On the door.”

“Oh!” Crowley smiled almost nervously, “Judas. You see, my parents actually _do_ hate me.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded, sitting down on his bed facing the mysterious redhead, “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What about me?” Crowley said almost defensively, “I bunk school and get into fights. You probably think I’m a new student, just here for my A-Levels, but I’ve been enrolled on and off since I was eleven.”

Aziraphale was surprised by this, “Really? You must have skipped an awful amount of class; I don’t recall seeing you before.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, causing Aziraphale’s heart to flutter, “You recall every boy you see?”

“No,” Aziraphale said hurriedly and blushed, he turned his attention back to his books to avoid Crowley’s hidden gaze, “I was simply stating, that as we’re in the same year and been in the same school, we should have met before our sixth year.”

Behind him, Crowley was struggling with his thoughts; Aziraphale was dressed like an old man from the 1950s, awkward, plump, and yet utterly breathtakingly beautiful. Crowley found his eyes wandering and had never been so glad of his light-sensitivity in his life as he drank in the sight of Aziraphale like a man dying of thirst. He’d had boyfriends and girlfriends in the past, not many due to living with a bunch of Catholics in the Oxfordshire countryside, but none of them had hit Crowley quite like this upon first acquaintance. They were plenty of ‘oh, he’s hot’, or ‘she’s sexy’, or ‘I wonder if they swing my way’, but never had he imagined he’d look at someone and think; I want to hug you and hold you while you sleep, and sketch you as you read your dusty old books.

“Crowley?”

Crowley forced himself out of his thoughts, “Sorry, angel, lost in thought. You were saying?”

“I was asking what classes you were taking,” Aziraphale said politely, his heart pounding at the sudden slip of an endearing nickname.

“Oh,” Crowley muttered, praying to God for the first time that Aziraphale had not heard the word ‘angel’, “I’m taking science, geography, history, and art.”

“Oh! I’m doing history,” Aziraphale said excitedly, he walked over to see Crowley’s crumpled timetable, “And I’m in your study sessions too.”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale’s timetable which had been neatly folded; clearly Ms Goodwin had intended for this guy to drag him to at least some of his classes.

_Business Studies – Miss Loquacious-Hodges – St John’s Room 10_

_English Literature – Mr Metatron – St John’s Room 221_

_Food Technology – Mr Sable – St Catherine’s Room 101_

_History – Mr Shadwell – St Matthew’s Room 402_

| 

**09:00**

| 

**10:00**

| 

**11:00**

| 

**12:00**

| 

**13:00**

| 

**14:00**

| 

**15:00**

| 

**16:00**  
  
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---  
  
**Monday**

| 

Bible

| 

English

| 

English

| 

Lunch

| 

Food

| 

Food

| 

Business

| 

Study  
  
**Tuesday**

| 

Bible

| 

| 

| 

Lunch

| 

English

| 

English

| 

Food

| 

PE  
  
**Wednesday**

| 

Bible

| 

Business

| 

Business

| 

Lunch

| 

History

| 

History

| 

| 

Study  
  
**Thursday**

| 

Bible

| 

Food

| 

Food

| 

Lunch

| 

Business

| 

Business

| 

History

| 

PE  
  
**Friday**

| 

Bible

| 

| 

| 

Lunch

| 

History

| 

History

| 

English

| 

Study  
  
“Food Technology?” Crowley muttered and almost felt Aziraphale stiffen and cave in on himself with some invisible shame, “I’d have thought you’d be doing something more academic.”

Aziraphale seemed a little surprised by the comment and Crowley found himself wondering why the boy was so shy and timid at the mention of food. Aziraphale shrugged, “I had hopes of studying philosophy, or perhaps sociology, but…”

“Christians,” Crowley muttered, Tadfield Academy had had a philosophy teacher for exactly one year before they suspiciously lost their job following a class debate on faith.

“Science was just something to fill in the gap. I’m oddly good at physics,” Crowley offered, he looked Aziraphale over again as he walked back to his side of the room to fumble through his desk, “and everyone has a body.”

“That’s true,” Aziraphale acknowledged, not meeting his gaze.

Crowley found himself staring at a loose golden curl behind Aziraphale’s ear, and had to pull himself out of his trance, “So tell me about you?”

“I asked first,” Aziraphale protested, but his tone was playful, teasing, and almost flirtatious which had Crowley’s body tingling, “I live with my mother, I’m an only child. Um… not many friends and I read a lot.”

“I can see that,” Crowley smirked, “No dad?”

“Dead,” Aziraphale said stiffly.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley muttered, “My parents are divorced, and my sister and I are getting time for it.”

“Time?”

“Prison,” Crowley clarified, “Dad gets the kids and mum pays for the school. You have the unfortunate job of being my probation officer.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said nervously, “That bad?”

Crowley grinned, showing off white, straight, sharp teeth, “Not as bad as others, but enough of a trouble-maker to give Ms Godwin a headache. This is my last chance for redemption. You get sick to death of me and I’m out.”

Aziraphale smiled, “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

“I don’t know,” Crowley teased, “I’m quite a handful.”

“I’m sure I can handle you,” Aziraphale said without thinking, he turned around to hide his shocked blushing face from the handsome bad-boy. Crowley watched Aziraphale turn around and fold his trousers into his draws, silently grinning at the impulsive response with dubious implications.

Aziraphale eventually ran out of things to do and sat on his bad at a safe distance, his roommate had taken out a sketchbook and was scribbling away, “Can I see?”

Crowley seemed not to hear him, but he saw the redhead’s hand still for a moment and he turned the page, “This one’s done.”

He turned the sketchbook around to show a black and white sketch of a winter forest landscape. Aziraphale gazed at the artwork lovingly and smiled, “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

Crowley shrugged, “It’s alright. Some of the others are a little… dark.”

“Another reason the teachers don’t like you, I suppose?” Aziraphale said warmly.

“Something like that,” Crowley allowed.

“Well, I think it’s superb,” Aziraphale said happily and gave a happy little wiggle which Crowley found oddly adorable, “What materials do you use?”

“Um…” Crowley rubbed his head, no one had ever shown any interest in his art other than to critique it until he hated it, “All sorts. Pencils, charcoal, acrylics, oils, pastels, water-colours, spray-paints.”

“Graffiti?” Aziraphale asked innocently, and then added quickly, “Some of it’s quite good.”

“Um, no,” Crowley said nervously and reached for his portfolio which was in the bottom of his suitcase, “I do some of that spacey art stuff.”

He took out a painting he did of a nebula, for some reason light worked best with spray-paint which he could not quite replicate with acrylic or oil paint. He handed the painting to Aziraphale and watched his face light up.

“Oh, my!” Aziraphale beamed, “It’s wonderful! You should perhaps decorate with some of these. They are quite extraordinary.”

Crowley blushed, unsure what to do with the unfamiliar admiration for his work. His father said he was wasting his time, that he should be studying rather than colouring like a toddler. His mother would give him a curt, ‘That’s nice, dear,’ and say nothing further. Mrs Tracy encouraged him to use brighter colours, but he used exactly as much colour as he wanted, and he could not see the point in learning the techniques of long-dead artists he hated. Now, this stranger was practically glowing with unburdened joy over his creations and suggesting he display them.

“Um? Where do you think I should put them?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale frowned, scanning the room which was becoming dim in the late-afternoon light. He stood and held the painting up as if trying to find the best view, “How about here?”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale stretched to hold it above the door where both of them would see it daily, “Could do… How would we do that, I don’t have a frame and we’re not allowed blu-tac.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Aziraphale scolded playfully, he pulled out a drawer of his desk and removed a pack of glue-dots and adhered the art to the wall above the door, “It’ll be easy to remove, and won’t damage the art. I’ve used them for posters for years.”

Crowley was scanning the walls now for more of his art, “Did you want to put up your posters?”

Aziraphale smiled nervously, “Oh, don’t worry. This is much nicer than some silly poems.”

“Poems?” Crowley asked, mindlessly flicking through his portfolio for things Aziraphale might like.

Aziraphale shrugged and turned on a light, “Just motivational things really.”

“Could you, um, could we use the lamps instead?” Crowley asked timidly. Aziraphale instantly switched off the light and turned on the lamp on his desk, “Thanks.”

Crowley took off his sunglasses and acclimatised to the light from the dull lamp on the far side of the room.

“Is it photophobia?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“Yeah,” Crowley muttered, “Although I hate the term; it’s not a phobia, bright lights hurt.”

“Sensitivity then,” Aziraphale whispered, trying not to get hopelessly lost in Crowley’s pale brown eyes as he scrutinised his own work, “May I have a look?”

Crowley frowned and gave Aziraphale a worried look, “Like I said some of it’s a bit… dark.”

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale said cheerfully, “Probably best they don’t go on the walls though.”

Crowley struggled with his thoughts for a moment before standing and handing Aziraphale the portfolio. He crashed back down on his bed and awaited his judgement.

Aziraphale smiled, delicately carding through the art, occasionally taking one out and setting it aside. There were plenty of beautiful extra-terrestrial landscapes, wintery landscapes, autumn trees, and starry nights. There were portraits too, beautifully perfect in their messy imperfections, men and women, some elegant and others sinful and rather exposed for Aziraphale’s taste. There were animals in watercolour; dark but colourful in their own strange way.

There were a few sinister sketches; dark and violent. Demons and monsters barely visible in the darkness, a boy in tears, a girl harming herself, the Grim Reaper taking souls of the suicidal. Aziraphale felt his heart shudder, they were dark, but they invoked such pure emotion that they were beautiful. He could see why his teachers did not like them, but they were perfect and beautiful, and Aziraphale found himself fearing that they were honest. He looked up to see Crowley watching him, fearfully patient. Aziraphale smiled warmly, “They’re wonderful.”

A flicker of relief and bemusement flickered across his face and Aziraphale took one last picture out of the portfolio before handing it back to Crowley, “I think these would look lovely. Art should be seen in my humble opinion.”

Crowley nodded and remained silent, taking the artwork Aziraphale handed him and began sticking it to the walls. Crowley turned around to see Aziraphale putting up a messy sketch of a child weeping as the Grim Reaper held his hand, both looking at the body of a young man with a needle in his arm. Crowley slowly walked over to him, “Why’d you pick that one?”

Aziraphale’s gaze seemed enchanted by the image and took a moment to answer, “It’s… emotional, not in the same awe-inspiring way as your stars, or joyful like some of the animals, but… I don’t know… the child within us crying for life, but sometimes things are just a little too dark… It’s deep and I love the details. Oh, sure it’s macabre, but pain is just as beautiful.”

Aziraphale finally managed to tear his gaze away from the image he had placed above his own desk to see Crowley near tears, “I can take it down if you want.”

“No,” Crowley said softly, and Aziraphale could see the little boy inside the gorgeous redhead crying out for something, but the young man had that little boy locked away, drowning in darkness. Suddenly the little boy was gone, and Crowley shook off his emotions, “It’s fine. What time is it?”

Aziraphale glanced at his watch, “Oh my, nearly seven o’clock.”

Aziraphale rummaged through his things to find his evening pills before heading out when he turned around, he found Crowley back on his bed sketching, “Aren’t you going to dinner?”

“Not hungry,” Crowley stated flatly. Aziraphale looked him over while he was distracted; he was tall but thin with it, high cheekbones, and hollow cheeks. He was not bony, but he certainly did not have fat to spare. His skin was pale but with a golden hint and smothered in pale freckles and not a zit in sight. Aziraphale caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of his open closet; short, fat, sickly pale, and terribly outdated fashion style. _No_, he thought to himself, _of course you’re not_.

He closed the closet and left Crowley to his art.


	2. No Rest for the... Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday morning and the start of a new year at Tadfield Academy. Aziraphale is abruptly reminded that his past will not leave him be and struggles to adjust to the thought of living with Crowley for the academic year... provided he isn't expelled. Crowley meets up with his devious friends who seem to be able to read him like a book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little darker - 'mild' sexual assault (not that sexual assault is ever mild, but it's not explicit), references to past abuse, and drug references.
> 
> (P.S. The time difference is important!)

Aziraphale woke up, he was a very light sleeper and often went to bed late while reading and woke early. He glanced at the watch on his bedside table to find it was around 5:40 am. He sighed and stretched, glancing over at his curious roommate who was fast asleep, sprawled across the bed and tangled in his sheets, his shoulder-length crimson hair tangled and falling across his face.

_Oh dear_, Aziraphale thought to himself, as he felt his heart quicken and his body tensed at the sight of him. He got out of his deliciously warm bed, put on his slippers, grabbed a towel, and made his way to the toilets before heading to the showers. He found himself a discrete cubicle, which he knew was pointless as only the songbirds outside were awake, but a habit was a habit. He stripped off his soft pyjamas and shivered against the cool air, before stepping into the shower. He often showered first thing in the morning, it gave him something to do that would not disturb his roommate too much. He tried to think about the day ahead, it was Sunday and that meant a thousand students would be crammed into the chapel to listen to another speech about education and solidarity. Aziraphale had faith, but when his faith told him homosexuality was wrong and that God had made a mistake in creating him, his faith faltered a little and that was terrifying. He was wrong, he was different, and he had to lie and pretend. He told his mother he had a girlfriend once, just to try and deter suspicion as he felt like the only fourteen-year-old in the world who had not had a relationship, but his mother lectured him in chastity and the sins of lust and marriage. He told her his imaginary girlfriend had broken his heart, and she told him that infatuations were a distraction.

Aziraphale had always known he was gay, and yet he had not. He reasoned that he must have been about twelve when he really realised his attractions were limited to the male sex, and then he realised that living with other boys in a boarding school would be problematic. He tried to act normal and cool, tried to have friends, but he found himself seeking the attention of boys he had crushes on and then was crushed when they talked about girls. Some boys were mean and far too tough for Aziraphale, he was already being bullied for his name and his weight, and the closer he got to people, the more they seemed to see what he was; delicate, fragile, effeminate, and some suspected he was homosexual. Eventually, he stopped trying to fit in, and slowly he became himself; out of touch, out of sight, out of time with his classmates. He became isolated, weird, he started wearing bowties when he was fifteen and quite liked them, and he did not care that he got teased and bullied for how he dressed and behaved anymore; they had never been kind before, but he liked the quiet comfortable corner he had found, even if he was lonely.

He found himself thinking of Crowley, how trusting and complex he was. He had had several opportunities to be mean and twisted them into mutual jokes like Aziraphale having a strange name, but his own middle name was Judas or the close call with the food technology classes which he turned into a strange compliment regarding academic pursuits. Nice pretty boys were the worst temptation Aziraphale had rarely had to deal with, and now he was sharing a room with one, even though he was a self-proclaimed truant and degenerate. Aziraphale looked down his plump body to his semi-erect cock and struggled with his dilemma; misuse the memory of someone or risk sexual frustration?

Aziraphale took himself in hand, leaning against the tiles as the hot water rushed over him. He thought about his dark red hair, how it might feel between his fingers, to pull it gently. He thought about those breathtakingly gorgeous pale brown eyes that looked like golden whiskey in the dim light. He thought about all those freckles disappearing beneath his blood-red shirt, his deft fingers as he sketched out his glorious works of art. His voice, his smile, how his lips might taste-

“Ah!” Aziraphale gasped, spilling himself over his hand and the white tiles. He stood there, shuddering in the steaming heat of the shower, watching the water wash his sin away. He washed himself again before finally leaving the shower and drying himself. He was putting his pyjamas back on when he heard the door shut behind someone. Aziraphale’s heart drummed painfully in his chest, and his blood ran cold; there was no hiding, the steam alone was enough to inform someone of his presence and his feet would leave wet footprints as a helpful breadcrumb trail. He snapped out of his petrified state and hurried to finish dressing.

“Oh, hello Fell,” An older boy said malicious intent, or perhaps Aziraphale was assuming he was being malicious.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale muttered politely, “How was your summer?”

Gabriel shrugged, “Same old; a holiday in New Zealand, family dinners, hunting at my uncle’s estate. Nothing special.”

Aziraphale smiled courteously, noticing the lack of any interest in his own summer, “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Gabriel murmured, slowly walking towards him; a crocodile creeping up on its prey with a smile full of teeth.

“Neither could I,” Aziraphale lied, not wanting to let Gabriel guess his morning routine. Last year had been blissful since they lived in two different dorms, but clearly Gabriel had not forgotten Aziraphale’s existence entirely.

“I didn’t see you yesterday,” Gabriel muttered in a blasé tone, “Not even at dinner.”

“I didn’t realise you had been looking for me,” Aziraphale stammered, truthfully, he had felt ugly and fat and snuck into the kitchens to grab something to eat, unable to face to the prospect of eating in front of his peers.

“Hm,” Gabriel nodded, inching ever closer to the blond, “Who’s your roommate this year?”

“No one in particular,” Aziraphale managed, not wanting to give Gabriel more information than was strictly necessary, it would not be hard for Gabriel to find him, but he would not make it easy for him, “An art student.”

“Does he have a name?” Gabriel asked, he was within arm’s reach now, “This boy.”

“You know, I can’t quite recall. I’m rather terrible with names,” Aziraphale blurted, feeling that the lie was a little too rushed.

“Does he know what you are?” Gabriel sneered.

Aziraphale gulped, trapped and utterly helpless.

Gabriel shoved him against the wall, his strength was the only thing stopping Aziraphale slipping on the wet floor and falling over. Gabriel leered at him hatefully, “Does your new roommate know that you’re a faggot?”

Aziraphale remained still and silent.

“You are still a filthy faggot, aren’t you?” Gabriel sneered cruelly. He braced his forearm against Aziraphale’s collarbone and reached for his groin with the other, trying to coax an erection from Aziraphale’s spent cock. The overstimulation was painful and Aziraphale was secretly glad that he had sinned in the shower, even if only to deny Gabriel his conflicted perversions.

Gabriel huffed in annoyance and stepped away, giving Aziraphale a knowing look, “Guess I should ask the janitor to sanitise that shower.”

Gabriel walked away, leaving Aziraphale shaking and afraid. This year was not looking too good, and classes had not even started yet.

Aziraphale returned to his room to find it empty. He slowly dressed in his protective layers; pants, light brown trousers, vest, white shirt, matching brown waistcoat, a pale beige jacket, and a golden bowtie. He sat back on his bed with a book but found his eyes drawn to the crying boy holding Death’s hand and before long he was crying too.

*** * ***

Crowley woke groggily when he heard the door shut. He sat up and looked out at the sunrise, the time on his phone read 6:10 am. He groaned and tried to go back to sleep, but he was awake now. He angrily threw back the covers and got dressed before heading out into the crisp autumn morning.

The greenhouses were off-limits after Crowley and Hastur were found smoking back there, so Crowley made his way to the pool house behind the gym and sports hall. He took out a cigarette and struggled with his lighter, turning the corner to find Dagon sat under the gazebo.

“Oi!” Crowley yelled, making the sleeping form jump and nearly fall off the half-wall they were balanced on.

“Fuck off, Crowley!” Dagon snapped back, their tired pale blue eyes glowering at the redhead, trying to meet his gaze behind his sunglasses.

“Bit cold for sleeping under the stars, isn’t it?” Crowley said playfully, offering them a cigarette.

“My roommate’s a bitch,” Dagon growled, lighting the cigarette and shivering, “She started talking about boys, and then offered a free makeup tutorial.”

Crowley pulled a face of disgust, he was no stranger to makeup though rarely had the time to practice, but he was well aware that his friend had no interest in being a girl or any inclinations regarding attracting a sexual partner of any gender, least of all boys. Crowley pondered their predicament, “Who is it? Your roommate.”

“Miss Michelle Michaels,” Dagon replied, in a cynically and sarcastically cheerful tune, “Prefect, netball captain, hockey captain, perfect grades, and can’t wait to meet _Mr Right_.”

Crowley pulled a sincere face of pure abhorrence, “Yikes, sorry to hear that.”

“What about you?” Dagon asked, trying to push Miss Michaels from her mind, “You with someone in our class or did they put you with Sandalphon again?”

“Someone in our year,” Crowley clarified, “He’s actually in my history class.”

Dagon looked at him expectantly, “What’s he like then? Some social nobody? Complete and utter arse?

Crowley had to push thoughts of Aziraphale’s arse from his mind and tried to decide how much he could trust Dagon, “He’s a bookworm, shy and dorky, but he’s alright.”

“Alright?” Dagon asked, trying to read Crowley’s thoughts behind his dark sunglasses, “What’s that mean?”

Crowley chose his words carefully, “He’s not judgemental which makes a change. He likes my art.”

“You showed him?” Dagon stammered with surprise written across their face, it had taken nearly a year for Crowley to show them his paintings, Dagon and Ligur took to stealing his sketchbook to steal glimpses at his work. Eventually, Crowley decided it was safest just to show them to stop them from touching them.

“Yeah,” Crowley muttered nervously, “And I think he honestly likes it.”

Dagon pulled from her cigarette, thinking, “All of it? Even the depressing stuff?”

“He put the drug overdose one over his desk,” Crowley stated flatly.

“He put your art on the walls?” Dagon choked, “I’m sorry, but not only did you show him your art, but you showed him _all_ of it. And then, you tell me he touched it and stuck it on the walls? Is he hot?”

“No,” Crowley said a little too quickly and before he could stop himself, he was smiling. He met Dagon’s expectant gaze, “He’s rather cute actually.”

Dagon’s jaw dropped and before long they were laughing, “Oh, you are going to be in so much trouble!”

“What’s going on?” Crowley turned around to see Ligur and Hastur walking up to them, lighting recently rolled cigarettes.

“Crowley’s got a crush!” Dagon teased and Crowley braced himself for ridicule.

“She hot?” Hastur asked, which got him a funny look from Ligur, “Sorry, are _they_ hot?”

“_Cute_, I believe is the word he used,” Dagon teased, “And _loves_ Anthony’s artwork.”

Crowley glowered at Dagon for the use of his Christian name but was distracted by Ligur and Hastur’s laughter.

“Cute! Cute?” Ligur jeered, “Is he good-looking?”

“Please tell me he’s not your roommate,” Hastur added quickly, and when Crowley did not immediately answer both Hastur and Ligur stared in shock.

“Oh, you’re so fucked!” Ligur laughed, shaking his head.

“I think that might be the point,” Dagon teased, winking at Crowley who had given up any attempt to regain his dignity.

Once the laughter and the teasing had calmed down, Crowley put out his cigarette, “I hate you all.”

“Hey! Where are you going?” Hastur called after Crowley who was sauntering back towards the school.

“To get some coffee,” Crowley shouted back, “And getting away from you idiots!”

“You love us really!” Dagon half screamed after him.

*** * ***

“You know,” The librarian said slowly, looking pointedly at Aziraphale who was attempting to hide behind his book, “Classes don’t start until tomorrow.”

“Sorry Deidre,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Mrs Young at school remember?” The librarian corrected.

“Thought classes don’t start until tomorrow?” Aziraphale said innocently.

Deidre smiled, “Cheeky. Ms Godwin was looking for you yesterday.”

“I was in my room,” Aziraphale answered returning to the aged, dry pages of his book.

“She wants to talk to you where Mr Crowley can’t hear what is said,” Deidre clarified.

Aziraphale frowned and looked up at the middle-aged woman, “Why?”

“Because he’s a troublemaker as far as I can gather,” Deirdre shrugged, “I only know him by the fact that I _don’t_ know him. There’s a whole group of them; constantly in trouble, constantly getting suspended.”

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale muttered thoughtfully, trying not to think about the distractingly handsome young man.

“I told her you’d probably be in here before breakfast,” Deidre added before walking off. Leaving Aziraphale worried and nervous.

Before long he heard heels on the wooden library floor, and the headmistress rounded the corner, “Hello Mr Fell.”

“Ms Godwin,” Aziraphale smiled nervously, setting his book down and looking up at the woman. She was older than Deidre, her hair was more white-grey than blonde these days, and her face was creased with age, but there was a hint of youth in her hazel-blue eyes.

Ms Godwin sat in the leather armchair opposite him in the cosy reading corner, “I trust you have settled in well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Aziraphale stammered, wishing she would get to her point, rather than easing into the topic which was making him inexplicably more nervous.

“Have you met your roommate yet?” She asked softly, her tone was light-hearted and dismissive as if his devious roommate was not the purpose of this conversation.

“Yes, I have, actually,” Aziraphale said with a soft smile, “He’s quite… solemn, but friendly enough.”

“Friendly?” Ms Godwin said in an accusatory tone that had Aziraphale regretting his words.

“Well, _civil_ at least,” Aziraphale corrected, somehow feeling the need to protect Crowley’s mischievous reputation.

“If he does anything out of order, anything at all; you report back to me directly,” Ms Godwin said sternly.

_Probation officer_, Aziraphale thought to himself, “Of course, though exactly what sort of behaviour am I supposed to be looking for?”

“I can’t expect you to drag him to class, but try to wake him up in the mornings,” Ms Godwin pondered, “He’s damaged property in the past, caught smoking, verbally abused staff and students, a few minor fights with other students, and suchlike. He’s not a bully, he just… clashes; butts heads until no one can recall who threw the first punch.”

_So, he’s not cruel and not particularly violent, _Aziraphale thought to himself, _nothing like Gabriel_. He’d thought about telling staff about Gabriel, hundreds of times, but could never bring himself to whisper the words; _‘Sorry miss, but the school’s golden-boy is violent, hateful, spiteful, and sexually confused to the point where he mocks me for being gay by molesting me’_. It sounded ridiculous and knew that Gabriel’s statement would be believed over anything Aziraphale said, most likely Gabriel would ‘out’ him, say he threw himself at him and then got upset when his perverted and sinful attractions were not reciprocated. No, Aziraphale was a coward and remained silent.

“Perhaps you could try getting him more involved with the school?” Ms Godwin suggested, pulling Aziraphale from his thoughts.

“What would you suggest?” Aziraphale asked, never having really understood this mythical ‘school spirit’ people were always talking about.

“Sports perhaps?” Ms Godwin offered and Aziraphale had to work to hide his fearful panic at the prospect of doing more sport than was strictly necessary, “Aren’t you arranging this year’s school play?”

Aziraphale seemed taken aback, he wanted to laugh at the suggestion of trying to get Crowley involved with a stupid religious school play, but then he thought about it, “I could try.”

Ms Godwin smiled, “Oh, good. I knew I could trust you to straighten him out.”

_There’s nothing straight about this,_ Aziraphale thought instantly and began worrying again as Ms Godwin left him alone. He read for a while longer, hoping to distract himself. Eventually, he glanced at his watch to see it was nearly eight o’clock and decided to make his way to the dining hall for breakfast. He had learned to ignore the rude glances and imagined sniggers behind his back, as he entered the half-empty hall and made his way to the canteen for some food and tea.

He heard some loud laughter and cringed, avoiding the gaze of the more boisterous teenagers, but when he sat down, he spotted Crowley at the far end of the hall laughing a joking with the students Aziraphale would prefer to hide from. Aziraphale found himself wondering what they were laughing about, what Crowley found funny, wondering if his golden eyes glistened when he smiled behind his dark sunglasses. Suddenly Crowley met his gaze and smiled, then looked away quickly, and the moment was gone.

Crowley forced his attentions away from Aziraphale, as lonely as he looked, Crowley had only barely distracted his idiotic friends from his stupid hormones with jokes about Bee’s summer girlfriend. Bee was attacking Ligur playfully to make him shut up while Dagon and Hastur cheered them on. Eventually, the conversation changed to planning their not-so-secret Halloween party; Halloween was not celebrated at the school and fell within the half-term break. This year Bee was planning on breaking into the pool house and sneaking alcohol inside for a small party that would likely get out of hand. Crowley suspected at least half the school knew they did this each year, yet somehow the staff were completely oblivious.

“So, where is your lover-boy here?” Dagon whispered, making Crowley jump slightly.

Crowley looked around the hall, noticing that Aziraphale was no longer in his seat, “Nope.”

“He was here earlier though,” Dagon stated quietly, Crowley frowned and met Dagon’s pale gaze, “You lingered over there; you saw him earlier and he’s not there now.”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest when Hastur interrupted them, “They’ll be heading to Church soon; what are we doing?”

“I’m meeting Lucien later,” Bee said flatly, and Crowley spotted Ligur slipping a wad of cash into her pocket. Lucien was seventeen like Bee, but he had exhausted his warnings two years ago, now he prowled the surrounding woodland once a week to supply Bee with cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol. Crowley never took anything more than some booze, cigarettes, and on rare occasions marijuana, but he was well aware that Bee and Ligur requested harder substances.

“I’ll probably do some painting,” Crowley murmured, more to himself than to his friends.

“Raiding the art department then?” Hastur said excitedly, he often tagged along to steal spray-paints in order to redecorate some of the outbuildings and temporary classrooms.

“Obviously,” Crowley stated with a devious grin. They parted ways when the other good little students started heading for the chapel for their Sunday mass. Crowley, Hastur, and Ligur headed for the art department St John’s Building, while Bee and Dagon headed to the lake to meet Lucien.

Crowley easily opened the art department storeroom with a key he stole from Mrs Tracy back in year eight. He perused the newly stocked shelves for materials he might want to use while Hastur stuffed his backpack full of cans of spray-paint. Ligur watched the corridor, not that it was strictly necessary, but Mrs Tracy had a tendency to leave the services early.

“So…” Hastur said slowly and purposefully, “This boy? What’s he like? And don’t say ‘cute’.”

Crowley groaned with annoyance, he should have realised they would not leave him be, “Um… I don’t know really. He’s quiet and shy… sincere though.”

Hastur chuckled, “God, you sound like your sister more than yourself.”

“You’re a dick,” Crowley retorted, “Lily has terrible taste in guys.”

“Then tell me something _meaningful_,” Hastur insisted, “Come on mate; you usually hook-up with older guys who are as messed up as the rest of us. The idea of you falling for some quiet, _cute_ guy is… bloody weird to say the least.”

“Who said I’m falling for him?” Crowley hissed as he shoved some oil paints in his bag, “I simply told Dagon that he liked some of my art.”

“Yeah, Dagon told us,” Hastur smirked, his dark brown eyes looked black in the dim light in the art store, “Describe him. Come on, I promise not to laugh.”

“You’ve never kept a promise in your life,” Crowley accused, “I only met him yesterday; I barely know him. I don’t even know if he’s… into guys.”

“Ah,” Hastur muttered strangely sincere, a trait the gangly sandy blond rarely displayed, “You better figure that one out before you try fucking him.”

“Why the fuck is everyone so interested in my sex life?” Crowley hissed, throwing some professional drawing pencils into his bag which were much better quality than any he already owned.

Hastur shook his head, “Listen, mate, it’s not your sex life that has us interested. It’s the fact that you look happy.”

Crowley frowned at him.

Hastur stood, he was taller than Crowley and he suspected the dark-eyed blond was struggling with accepting his bisexuality ever since Crowley drunkenly kissed him last Christmas. The blond placed a firm hand on the redhead’s shoulder, “You are usually moody and depressingly glum. And today you’ve been smiling and laughing like you’re on crack. The only thing that has changed as far as we can tell is this guy.”

Crowley thought about this for a moment. Was it the fact that his summer had been shit and he was finally away from his dad for a few months? Was it because his roommate was not a snotty arsehole? Was it because someone seemed to sincerely love something he was secretly passionate about? Was it because Aziraphale seemed genuinely happy and friendly in a way Crowley had never experience before? He frowned, he still felt depressed and morbid, he still felt alone and lost in the whirlwind of youth.

“I feel the same,” Crowley insisted.

Hastur smirked and leaned a little too close, “Then why are you smiling?”

Hastur barged past him with a sinful smirk on his acne covered face, leaving Crowley alone in the art store with his thoughts.


	3. School Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get to know each other a little better.
> 
> Fluffy and mundane, honestly not a lot happens in this chapter.
> 
> WARNING: Eating disorders

Crowley groaned, waking up was the worst part about sleep. Someone was nudging him and speaking softly.

“Five more minutes,” He moaned trying to crawl back into his warm, blissful sleep.

“You’ve already slept through Bible study,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley opened his eyes, the curtains were still drawn and Aziraphale was leaning over him, smiling softly. Crowley was not gay, but suddenly found himself realising what people meant by ‘gay panic’, “Oh… right.”

Aziraphale backed away slightly as Crowley sat up, “I’m afraid you’ve missed breakfast, but I got you some pastries. I know you don’t eat much, but I thought…”

Crowley smiled as the blond babbled on about nothing in particular, “Thanks.”

Aziraphale smiled and started packing his bag, or more accurately re-packing it. Crowley looked him over; _since when was their dull uniform so attractive?_ He rubbed his face and tried to organise his thoughts and hormones, before finally slipping out of his bed to brush his teeth in the basin in the corner and get dressed. He pulled his shoes on, grabbed his bag and shoved a croissant in his mouth, murmuring around the food, “Come on then.”

Aziraphale pulled his bag over his shoulders and followed Crowley out of their room, watching as Crowley tied his shoulder-length hair into a messing bun and tie his school tie loosely around his neck. They walked to St John’s in silence, but it was not as uncomfortable as Aziraphale had feared.

Crowley stopped outside Mrs Tracy’s classroom and hesitated, “See you later?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled, and continued walking down the corridor to his English class.

Crowley smirked and cursed himself under his breath as he entered his class, “Morning Madame!”

Mrs Tracy turned to face the intrusion and frowned, though not entirely disguising her smile, “Good of you to join us at this early hour, sir. Please take a seat.”

“Gladly,” Crowley smirked, throwing himself on a stool at the back and began continuing his sketch.

When Mrs Tracy stopped informing the class as to their task for the day she walked over to Crowley, “I didn’t expect to see you this morning. I was starting to think you were a vampire.”

“Well I don’t like sunlight and don’t eat, so I understand the confusion,” Crowley grinned, “Thought I’d surprise you.”

Mrs Tracy raised a thinly pencilled eyebrow, “Nothing to do with your new roommate then?”

Crowley slumped and put down his pencil, “Why is everyone so interested in him? Nothing’s changed. I was told to attend one class a day and here I am.”

“Mhm,” Mrs Tracy nodded slowly then peered over his sketchbook, “I expect you’ll return the art supplies you _borrowed_ when you’re finished with them.”

“I always do,” Crowley replied with a knowing grin, he watched her walk away to inspect everyone else’s attempts to copy Warhol before picking up his pencil and continue sketching the angel he was working on.

* * *

Aziraphale stumbled into class, “Sorry, I’m late sir.”

“Sit down, Mr Fell,” Mr Metatron said sternly, glancing at him with silent disdain, “As I was saying, we will be studying the work of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein this term. I trust you have all read it over your summer?”

There was a murmur of agreement and Aziraphale pulled his tattered old copy from his bag, he found the book rather dull and disappointingly uneventful. He liked the morality of it, though often missed on the average reader and certainly missed on the film industry; who is the real monster, the creature or the creator? He knew his answer and had read the book four times over the summer, and now he had to listen to his boring teacher drone on about it in such detail that the original text was forgotten and those who perhaps enjoyed the book began to hate it. Aziraphale found himself staring out the window wondering if Frankenstein’s creature ever got the life it deserved after it had been created for no purpose other than experimentation and then abandoned by its creator.

“Mr Fell? Are you even listening?” Mr Metatron’s voice was cold and callous, Aziraphale nodded, “Then continue reading. From August 13th.”

Aziraphale looked down at his closed copy of Mary Shelly’s novel, he thought for a moment and smiled before continuing from memory, “_My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once my admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see so noble a creature destroyed by misery without feeling the most poignant grief? He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and when he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art, yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence_.”

Uriel who was sat next to him looked at him with startled admiration, and Mr Metatron rippled with annoyance, “At least _look_ like you are listening, Mr Fell.”

Aziraphale found himself looking out the window again, the sky was grey and promised rain. Before long the bell rang, and everyone began packing their things and leaving for lunch.

“Mr Fell,” Mr Metatron said sternly before Aziraphale had a chance to escape with his classmates. Reluctantly he walked towards the ornate oak desk, “You seem rather distracted today.”

“Sorry, sir,” Aziraphale stammered, “It won’t happen again.”

Mr Metatron looked at him over his reading glasses, “You’re not in trouble, Mr Fell. You clearly know the text well, just try to drag yourself out of the clouds. You’re a smart young man, Mr Fell, it would be a shame to waste any potential in daydreams.”

“Thank you, sir,” Aziraphale said meekly, “It won’t happen again.”

“And Aziraphale,” Aziraphale turned around at the door, surprised that his teacher even knew his name, “Best not dawdle in future.”

“Yes sir,” Aziraphale nodded and left. He hesitated to take a deep breath before starting to walk down the corridor.

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale stopped and turned around to see Crowley jogging down the corridor after him, “Crowley.”

“Hey,” He said as he finally caught up with him, with a broad grin, “Lunch?”

Aziraphale titled his head and smiled, “Lunch is usually at noon.”

Crowley grinned like an idiot and fell in stride with Aziraphale, “So how’s Meta? Still stiff as a board and just as dull?”

Aziraphale smiled shyly, “Yes.”

“What’s he got you reading?” Crowley asked, seemingly sincere in his interest.

“Frankenstein,” Aziraphale replied miserably.

“Ah,” Crowley grimaced, “What horrors absent fathers create.”

Aziraphale looked at him curiously, “Care to elaborate?”

“I mean you create a life, fail to educate and raise it. Abandon it, and then act all surprised when it comes back with hatred and revenge in its heart?” Crowley shrugged, “The only horror is that people still think the creature is the monster. That and people refer to the creature as Frankenstein.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, “I hadn’t realised you’d read it.”

Crowley groaned, “No need to tell the whole blessed world!”

Aziraphale chuckled lightly as they walked leisurely towards the dining hall, “So how’s art?”

“My art’s fine,” Crowley joked, “Not sure about Warhol’s though.”

“Not a fan I take it,” Aziraphale probed.

“I can’t see the point of re-colouring the same bloody image,” Crowley moaned, “There’s no… skill. Don’t tell Marjorie though, she bloody loves the dead idiot.”

“Marjorie?” Aziraphale queried.

“Mrs Tracy,” Crowley clarified, “Marjorie Potts was her maiden name, she married John Tracy some twenty years ago. The abusive bastard finally dropped dead and she slowly working her way into Harry’s bed.”

Aziraphale had no idea what to do with this information, but found himself curious, “Who’s Harry?”

“Harrold Shadwell,” Crowley stopped outside the dining hall and looked at Aziraphale, “Am I the only person here who knows all the teachers’ names?”

“I certainly didn’t know their names,” Aziraphale stated weakly, walking into the dining hall as Crowley held the door for him and then stopped when suddenly faced with a hall full of loud teenagers, he was so distracted that he’s forgotten to mentally prepare himself for walking into a nightmare of raucous chaos.

“You at least knew that Marj has a crush on Harry, right?” Crowley continued, not immediately noticing Aziraphale’s sudden panic, “You okay?”

Aziraphale swallowed and realised he wasn’t breathing, which heightened his panic. Crowley quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back out of the hall before anyone had even realised they were there, “Hey, hey! It’s okay. Breathe. Angel, just breathe.”

Aziraphale gulped down a breath and focused on Crowley’s dazzling eyes, he took a few more jagged breaths before he was calm enough to speak, “Sorry.”

“For what?” Crowley smiled; his brows furrowed.

“For being pathetic,” Aziraphale moaned glumly, fighting tears.

Crowley relaxed and covered his gorgeous eyes with his sunglasses again, “You’re not pathetic. Lots of people have panic attacks, there’s nothing wrong or pathetic about it. It’s just fear, and teenagers are definitely scary.”

Aziraphale nodded, not entirely convinced.

“I’m scared of heights,” Crowley offered with a shrug.

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, breathless and shaking slightly.

“Yeah,” Crowley smiled nervously, “London Eye was fucking terrifying, had to sit on the floor right in the middle until I was close enough to the ground to stand. That was this summer.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, it sounded terribly belittling, but his heart ached for him.

Crowley laughed it off, “Bee’s absolutely terrified of spiders, they thought they saw a spider once and freaked out. Turned out it was a bit of fluff. The fear was real though.”

“Aren’t your friends waiting for you?” Aziraphale asked numbly, beginning to wonder why Crowley was giving him the time of day.

“Nah!” Crowley scoffed, “They’re probably smoking pot somewhere.”

Aziraphale frowned before realising what he was referring to, “Oh… right.”

“You okay?” Crowley asked, his voice soft with concern and Aziraphale melted a little and nodded, “Alright then.”

Aziraphale followed him into the hall towards the cafeteria. Crowley grabbed a tray but only grabbed a cake and a coffee, Aziraphale glanced at the prepacked sushi and averted his gaze to inspect the salads. Crowley frowned, and grabbed a pack of sushi and shoved it on his tray.

“What?” Aziraphale murmured barely keeping the tray balanced to stop the items from falling onto the floor.

“The salads are shit,” Crowley shrugged and picked up an apple that didn’t look bruised and walked off to find a table. Aziraphale followed hurriedly and sat next to him awkwardly.

“So,” Aziraphale said nervously, trying to make the conversation sound casual and friendly, “Do you have any hobbies? I imagine your art takes up a lot of time, but, anything else?”

Crowley Smirked, then bit his lip, “Um, no not really. Not unless you count certain criminal activities.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded, shoving a piece of sushi into his mouth, it was not the best sushi he had ever had, but good enough.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Crowley asked softly, giving Aziraphale a curious look. When Aziraphale frowned he elaborated slightly, “Criminal activity? Most good-boys back away slowly when they find out.”

Aziraphale shook his head, “Just don’t expect me to pawn stolen goods.”

Crowley laughed, “I don’t steal, I borrow. Mostly B and E, and underage drinking, a few small fights here and there.”

“Well, that’s alright then,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Hey, Zira!” A younger girl smiled, approaching the table, “Have you got them?”

Crowley gave the girl who must have been about his sister’s age a curious look, then turned to Aziraphale who was rummaging through his bag, “There we are… Anathema, would you take Newton’s too?”

“Sure,” The girl grinned taking two copies of a small ring-bound book, “See you at four?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed shortly before she bounced off into the chaotic hall.

“What was that about?” Crowley asked quietly.

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, “I’m part of the small drama society, I have the scripts for this year’s play. We’ve agreed on the characters between ourselves, and several year sevens came to the auditions yesterday, but we still need to fill a role or two.”

Crowley nodded and returned to his coffee, completely failing to eat any of the food he’d taken for himself. Aziraphale looked at his own food and felt sick, “We’re actually having a meeting today about it,” Aziraphale continued, unable to face the rest of his lunch, “Just to finalise roles, plan costumes and set dressings. Would you like to come?”

Crowley held back a laugh, “Why would you want me to come?”

Aziraphale felt his heart pounding in his chest, “Well, we need someone to do the stage back-panels, and I was thinking your artistic skill could… be put to good use, as it were.”

Crowley pondered this while sipping his coffee, “How big are the back-panels?”

“Um,” Aziraphale worked out the dimensions in his head, “About four meters high, about eight across.”

Crowley choked on his black coffee, “How many do you want?”

“Two; day and night,” Aziraphale said flatly, “A third can be produced with a curtain.”

Crowley was thinking with a ghost of a smile on his lips, he started nodding slowly, “That’ll take time and a lot of paint.”

“I’m sure… _Marjorie_ will let you raid the art cupboard,” Aziraphale offered.

Crowley was laughing now, “Lawfully raiding the art supplies cupboard, that’ll make a change.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale added cautiously, “I wondered if you might… I don’t know. There’s one particular role we’re struggling to fill. You don’t have to if you don’t want to; any help with the stage would be more than enough...”

Crowley squinted at Aziraphale suspiciously as he rummaged through his bag for another script, “The lines are highlighted for you. Just… read it will you?”

Crowley took the script carefully as if it were a bomb that could detonate at any moment. They sat in silence for a moment, until Aziraphale felt he was on the verge of another panic attack.

“Meeting’s at four?” Crowley said slowly, setting the script aside; neither opening it nor handing it back.

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured nervously, “In the auditorium.”

“Anything to miss study,” Crowley said dismissively with a mischievous smile.

Aziraphale smiled timidly and drank his juice.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Crowley asked quietly after a moment or two.

Truthfully, Aziraphale was starving, but his anxiety made his stomach churn at the thought of eating in front of people. He shook his head.

Crowley frowned and finished his coffee, “You should eat, at least finish the sushi.”

Aziraphale stared at his plate.

“I will bloody feed you if you don’t,” Crowley threatened.

“Well you’re not eating anything,” Aziraphale retorted, frightened by the thought of added humiliation by being fed like a baby.

Crowley squinted and shoved half his cake in his mouth, then looked pointedly at Aziraphale’s food.

Aziraphale frowned and popped another piece of sushi in his mouth, watching Crowley smile around his full mouth.

“Not so hard is it?” Crowley teased, “I don’t eat a lot, and my doctor lectures me about it a lot. I’m like a snake, I’ll eat loads one day and then survive on snacks for the rest of the week.”

“But you’re healthy,” Aziraphale mumbled quietly.

Crowley laughed, “I’m most definitely _not_ healthy. You just think that because the anorexic media has told you _thin_ equals healthy. I’m _under_weight and mostly surviving of fags and booze, which at sixteen is illegal anyway. I’ve never eaten much, and I need to eat more, I will eat just to make sure you do.”

Aziraphale smiled and started eating his food in earnest while Crowley ate his cake and apple.

“I should head to class,” Aziraphale stammered once he had finished his sushi, banana, and half his cereal bar, “Need to prep the ovens”

“You forgot something,” Crowley said pointing at the half-eaten cereal bar.

Aziraphale frowned, “Oh, you eat it!” He huffed angrily shoving it in Crowley’s mouth and leaving without a glance back.

Crowley sat there with a piece of cereal bar in his mouth trying desperately not to think about Aziraphale’s fingers in his mouth.

*** * ***

Crowley sat in geography, listening to Mr Leslie ramble on about his time in Des Moines over the summer. Eventually, Crowley decided to take the script out of his bag and flicked to the first page which told him that the play was set in the Garden of Eden and the main part was about the birth of Christ. Every year was the same; the first act would be a Biblical story re-told, and the main second act would be the nativity. Last year they had done Joseph's technicolour dream-coat, as a full musical. Crowley sat back trying to recall if he had seen Aziraphale during that performance, but then he was quite high at the time of the student performance.

He flicked to the second page displaying the cast in order of appearance, some names he recognised, but most were new to him. He flicked through looking for something highlighted and stopped; _Serpent_.

“You cheeky bloody bastard,” Crowley cursed under his breath and began reading. He had no idea why he agreed to read the script, and he had no intentions to perform in it, but after the first scene, he realised that anyone else just would not get the character right.

“Damn,” Crowley muttered, setting the script down and wondering how he managed to get so whipped after only knowing the guy for two days. He flipped the script over, right at the bottom, humble and discrete; _Playwright – A. Z. Fell (L6)._ Crowley smiled to himself, “Oh, you silly angel… what have you done to me?”

He wrote his name beside the _Serpent_.

*** * ***

Aziraphale slipped out of his depressingly dull business studies class back to the food technology classroom to collect the cool cookies he had baked after lunch, before heading to the auditorium. He found the hall bustling with twenty excitable children inside. The year sevens were the worst, but their excited joy eased Aziraphale’s anxiety.

He opened the box of fresh cookies and started descending the stair towards the children. Suddenly a hand wrapped around and snatched a cookie. Aziraphale spun suddenly to see Crowley with a cookie between his sharp teeth.

“You came,” Aziraphale said smiling, calming his beating heart.

“Of course,” Crowley mumbled as he bit into the cookie, and groaned, “God that’s good!”

“You like them?” Aziraphale asked bashfully.

Crowley hummed and nodded, following Aziraphale down towards the stage, “That means you have to eat one.”

“After everyone else,” Aziraphale reasoned, “Wouldn’t be very good if I ate everything I baked.”

Crowley almost choked, “You baked these?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley snatched another one and grinned, he held out the script to Aziraphale, “I read it.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale stammered, clearly not wanting to admit he wrote it, “And?”

“And I think you don’t need to audition anyone for a serpent,” Crowley whispered.

“Really?” Aziraphale beamed, almost jumping with joy.

Crowley chuckled, “If anyone in this school was suited to play a demon, I think I’m your best bet.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Aziraphale said hurriedly, suddenly feeling guilty and ashamed.

Crowley smiled, “Oh come on, angel, I’m _flattered_. And I can’t wait to see Ms Godwin’s face!”

Aziraphale blushed and sat down, waiting for Mrs Nutter to begin the session. Crowley was only half listening while sketching out ideas for the set, Aziraphale noticed he was writing materials and timescales around the images, estimating the time and work required. Aziraphale smiled at the realisation that Crowley was far more than a pretty face and a rebellious attitude. _A smart, nice, handsome man_, Aziraphale thought to himself, _God save me_.

They left for dinner and Crowley was bursting with energy, “The starry night is the main backing used, so that will be permanent. What we’ll have to do is get two smaller panels and paint them for the day scenes. So they can be easily moved out of the way.”

Aziraphale watched him rambling about what materials would work best, deciding on spray paint for speed but then realising he’d have to work outside so as to not kill himself with the fumes. Aziraphale could not help but smile at the redhead’s enthusiasm, something he had never expected when Ms Godwin had suggested involving him in the project. They walked back to St Edgar’s to their room to drop off their things before heading to the dining hall for dinner. Aziraphale unpacked his books from his bag and grabbed his pot of pills.

“What are those things?” Crowley asked; Aziraphale turned to find him towering over him, frowning at the plastic pot in his hand.

“N-nothing,” Aziraphale stammered, trying to remove the pot from Crowley’s line of sight.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed playfully, then snatched the bottle from Aziraphale’s grasp. He read the label twice before looking back at Aziraphale, “Why are you taking these?”

Aziraphale huffed, unsure if he was annoyed, angry, or upset, “Isn’t it obvious?”

Crowley frowned and looked back at the bottle, “No, it's not. Why are you taking diet pills?”

Aziraphale grabbed the bottle from Crowley’s grasp, the tears stinging his eyes told him he was upset, “Because I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat!” Crowley stated instantly, but Aziraphale felt his heart imploding, “Angel, look at me.”

Aziraphale did so instantly, wondering when he decided to answer to the pet-name. Crowley removed his sunglasses, grasped his shoulders had looked him in the eye, “You are not fat.”

Aziraphale whimpered and suddenly there was no stopping the tear from falling. To his surprise, Crowley pulled him into a tight embrace and Aziraphale felt himself melting against him before remembering his place, “Why are you being so nice?”

Crowley leaned back to gaze into Aziraphale’s ocean-blue eyes, “Firstly, I’m not nice. Secondly, you’re not fat. Thirdly, these are what’re making you feel sick.”

Aziraphale blinked, he had not felt that bad and yet this apparent stranger seemed to know him better than he knew himself, “But I’ve tried _everything_.”

Crowley half-smiled, “Have you tried being happy and eating whatever the fuck you want?”

Aziraphale slumped, and resigned to his fate, “Fine.”

Crowley grinned, “Good. You _will_ eat anything and everything you want, and you’ll make me eat too. Deal?”

Aziraphale frowned and relented, “Deal.”


	4. Trust and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley visits his doctor and begins addressing some of his own past traumas and allowing himself to dream of things he had never thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing this chapter for days and it got so long I had to split it into two, so the next chapter shouldn't be too long, but also this one will just feel like a filler because I haven't got to the point yet.

Crowley stared at the poster opposite about flu jabs again, trying not to worry about this appointment. Usually, she would give him a call if he was fine, but this time she had made him an appointment and Crowley was becoming increasingly distressed. He remembered the first time he had come to this clinic, and why.

He had been fourteen and Lucien was fifteen, just before he was expelled. Lucien was tall, dark-haired, with pale blue eyes and high cheekbones. Crowley knew he was not straight but was not yet decided on his label. He was young, impressionable, and naïve, and Lucien was confident, sexy, and experienced. Crowley had been eager to meet him in Oxford and enjoyed tumbling into bed in the cheap hotel room with the older boy. It was only afterwards that the world went to shit.

Crowley as lying in the bed, breathing in the fumes from a spliff, while Lucien made suspicious sniffing sounds in the bathroom. Crowley was not sure why the item took his notice, but he had always been curious. In hindsight, he might have thought it was some exciting new drug Lucien could sell to him and his friends. He read the prescription label twice and eventually had to Google the drug. Then all he felt was hatred for the elder boy. He screamed abuse, grabbed his clothes and left. Only once he was outside, did he think about what he needed to do; he needed to find a doctor.

The first clinic he found which was open was a private healthcare clinic, but he did not care. He made an appointment and fidgeted in the waiting room. It felt like hours, and after some time he realised he needed to make some calls; he may have been infatuated with Lucien, but he was well aware that the older boy had been sleeping with Ligur and Bee too.

“Mr Crowley?” A woman called pulling Crowley out of his traumatic recollection, he stood and made his way to his doctor’s office.

“How long have I got?” He asked as soon as the door was shut.

Dr Harriet Dowling was middle-aged, but she did not look it, and closer a friend than a doctor. Crowley had even been invited to the Dowlings over the Christmas holidays last year because Crowley had let slip how dysfunctional his own family was. Dr Dowling indicated to the seat opposite her desk with a solemn expression, “I have a diagnosis for you.”

Crowley nodded and took a seat, bracing himself for the bad news.

“Crowley,” She said softly, “I’m going to prescribe you some pills for paranoia and depression, and you need to go to that psychologist I referred you to.”

Crowley released the breath he had been holding and rolled his eyes, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’re clean,” Dr Dowling said with a shrug, “Just like the last dozen times. You’ve told me yourself you use protection.”

“Girls can still get pregnant while using a condom,” Crowley retorted, his heart still beating heavily in his chest, “Better safe than sorry.”

“Except you told me there hasn’t been anyone since Alice,” Dr Dowling countered, “Why did you ask for these tests, _pay_ for these tests, when nothing’s changed? You should be going to an NHS clinic once a year.”

Crowley bit his lip, “A month ago… I met a guy.”

Harriet smiled softly, “Oh?”

“He nothing like the others,” Crowley continued, smiling despite himself, “I wanted to be sure. I think he’s a virgin.”

Dr Dowling nodded slightly, “So if he gets an STI it’s your fault?”

“Something like that,” Crowley mumbled, he knew he was being stupidly paranoid, he also knew that he had no idea if Aziraphale was interested in guys sexually let alone if he was interested in him.

“Anthony,” She said softly, placing her manicured hand on his and ignoring his dislike for his own name, “You came in here, crying, fearing that someone you trusted gave you HIV. And I watched you as I told you your test results came back negative. That was nearly three years ago. You’ve used protection ever since, and that’s very mature of you, but you need to stop worrying quite so much. STIs are not fun, but you know how to be safe and you know the symptoms. You should be worrying about school and exams, not diseases and infections you may or may not contract due to a condom that may or may not be defective or damaged. Once a year is enough, this is your fourth, and the last time you told me you had sex was in February.”

Crowley took a deep breath, “Yeah, I know. I don’t even talk to Lucien anymore. I know I didn’t need this test, but…”

“You like this boy,” Harriet smiled.

“I don’t even know if he’s gay,” Crowley chuckled nervously.

“I suggest you find out,” Dr Dowling smiled, “And Crowley; anti-anxiety meds and counselling.”

Crowley grimaced and groaned, taking the prescription and letter regarding the therapy, “You know I’m in a boarding school, right?”

“I’m aware,” Harriet smiled, “You’ve never had an issue getting into Oxford before.”

“I’ll see you December 13th,” Crowley said absently as he stood and walked towards the door.

“That’s a little specific,” Dr Dowling said, folding her arms across her chest, “Planning on making an appointment?”

Crowley stopped, “Aren’t you going to see the play? Warlock’s got a part.”

“He mentioned it,” Harriet nodded slowly, “But why will you be there?”

Crowley gave her a nervous smile, “I might have been persuaded into acting.”

Harriet smiled broadly, “Wow. Anything to do with this new boy?”

Crowley thought about lying then nodded, “He may have written it.”

“Alright,” Harriet chuckled, “I’ll see you December 13th, will you be coming to visit over the Christmas holidays?”

“With or without an invitation,” Crowley chuckled, leaving her office. He walked to the pharmacy to pick up his prescription and read the referral letter.

*** * ***

Crowley returned to the school several hours later to find Aziraphale frowning at his reflection, “Angel, what are you doing?”

Aziraphale looked startled and shut the closet door, “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Crowley muttered shaking his head, “Did someone say something?”

“No,” Aziraphale lied, truthfully Gabriel had thrown him against a wall in the boys’ toilets and molested him, sneering remarks about how disgustingly fat he was and left his unsatisfied and ashamed.

“Again; terrible liar,” Crowley sighed, staring at the exquisite beauty before him, “You shouldn’t listen to them, sure you’re a bit chubby, but there’s nothing wrong with how you are. One day you are going to tell me who is bullying you and I’m going to talk to them.”

“Talk?” Aziraphale queried.

“Fine,” Crowley admitted, “I’ll probably punch them in the face and get expelled, but the point is, you need to start accepting yourself.”

Aziraphale, looked at the package Crowley had received from the pharmacist, “Did you go to the doctor?”

“Ah,” Crowley said, he went to hide the pills and then decided that honesty might help Aziraphale believe him, “Yes, got some anti-anxiety meds for depression and stuff.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured quietly, glancing at the sketch above his desk before looking back towards his roommate, “Been taking them long?”

“Not as long as I should have,” Crowley admitted, “I was diagnosed anorexic four years ago, depression five years ago. And now I have paranoia and anxiety to add to the list.”

“What are you paranoid about?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

_Death, illness, trusting someone with my heart, body and soul?_ Crowley sighed, “Um, lots really. I think everyone’s out to get me and therefore I fight people, but then I act like such an arsehole they usually _do_ hate me. I just… I had a bad experience a few years ago and… I’m worried about being that vulnerable again.”

Aziraphale gave him a soft smile that made him feel more vulnerable than he was, “At least you’re getting some help.”

“Steady, angel,” Crowley joked, “I haven’t taken any pills yet.”

“Well, I hear admitting these things are a good place to start,” Aziraphale beamed.

Crowley nodded, “True… fancy taking your own advice?”

Aziraphale frowned, “But I _am _fat.”

“And you look great,” Crowley said without thinking, “Dinner?”

Crowley grabbed his jacket and walked out, waiting in the hallway for Aziraphale to follow him. Aziraphale hurried to match Crowley’s stride as they walked towards the dining hall together. Crowley had taken to eating with Aziraphale, trying to help the bookworm and himself at the same time, his friends were usually off getting high and it would only be a matter of time before they introduced him to cocaine, heroin, LSD, and Ecstasy.

They settled down in a quiet corner where Aziraphale did not feel quite so exposed and started eating their roast dinner. Crowley had persuaded Aziraphale into adding more potatoes and splashed far more gravy than was strictly necessary.

“Eat at least half,” Crowley whined, “Humans are supposed to eat.”

“But you barely eat,” Aziraphale countered, angrily stabbing a carrot.

Crowley shoved a piece of lamb in his mouth, chewed and swallowed, “I will call Harriet right now to explain to you that anorexia is not fun, and my lack of inclination to eat is largely due to cigarettes and booze.”

“Harriet?”

“My doctor,” Crowley stated flatly, stuffing a potato in his mouth, “She’s also Warlock’s mother.”

“Dowling isn’t an unusual surname,” Aziraphale reasoned.

“No, I mean I knew Warlock before he came here, ‘cause Harriet invited me to her house,” Crowley explained, stuffing his face in an attempt to coax Aziraphale into eating more, “She’s a lovely woman, a pain in the arse doctor though.”

“Keeps trying to feed you pills for depression and anxiety?” Aziraphale teased, taking a few more bites of food. The food was good, and he was hungry, but the thought of eating in front of people tied his stomach in knots, even without his diet pills making him nauseous.

“Exactly!” Crowley stated as if confirming a conspiracy theory, making Aziraphale chuckle, “And she wants me to see a shrink.”

Crowley groaned and adjusted his glasses, the artificial light in the hall was worse than bright sunlight. They ate in comfortable silence for a time, before Crowley decided to say something stupid, “There’s a private party, Halloween. Do you want to come?”

Aziraphale swallowed and fidgeted, “I’m not really a party person.”

“Neither am I really,” Crowley shrugged, it was not entirely true; he liked the freedom, the booze, and the loud music, it was the company that usually put him off. Crowley leaned forward, “It’s just an excuse to let loose, have some fun, and get drunk really.”

“Drunk?” Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley chuckled slightly, “If you don’t want alcohol, put a black cross on the back of your hand. We tell the younger students that’s it’s a sign they were invited; drunk 11-year-olds are not fun.”

“Where is this party?” Aziraphale asked as if it were a deadly secret.

“Pool house this year,” Crowley answered instantly, “It moves around. No teachers; that’s the rule.”

Aziraphale looked stiff and uncomfortable, and Crowley was beginning to regret asking him when Aziraphale muttered another question, “Will I have to dress up?”

Crowley smiled broadly, “Obviously, anything you like, angel. Plenty of witches, zombies, vampires, and corpses. Unfortunately, I planned my outfit months ago and will need a new one.”

“Why?”

Crowley laughed nervously, “It’s… um, it’s embarrassing really.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, “I’ll make a deal; I’ll come to this party _and_ dress up, but only if you wear your embarrassing outfit.”

Crowley laughed with the pain of his knowledge, “You’re such a bastard!”

Aziraphale beamed at him, enjoying Crowley’s embarrassment far too much, “I know.”

Crowley suddenly looked up and panicked, “No! Nonononononooooo!”

He headbutted the table making Aziraphale jump and then he saw Mrs Tracy come up to the table behind him with a small cake with a single candle in it. Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, “Is it your birthday?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Mrs Tracy said accusingly.

Crowley reluctantly lifted his head, “I didn’t tell my other friends either, they asked my sister in the end.”

“I still haven’t met your sister,” Aziraphale muttered quietly.

“Good,” Crowley hissed, “She’s hell-incarnate.”

“And you’re such a _saint_,” Mrs Tracy said sarcastically, placing the cake in front of Crowley, and smiled, “Make a wish then.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale and blew out the candle.

Mrs Tracy clapped and left and no one else appeared to notice the spectacle. Aziraphale smiled, watching Crowley blush behind his sunglasses, “October 21st, you’re seventeen then?”

Crowley groaned, and nodded, “Yep, as of nine this morning… well, quarter past.”

“You’re exactly six months older than me,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, “April 21st.”

Crowley frowned, “Weird.”

“Yes, you are,” Aziraphale said fondly, and then looked horrified, “Oh! I haven’t got you a present or anything. If I’d known this morning, I could have made a proper cake!”

Crowley shook his head, taking a knife to cut the small cake in half, “Don’t worry yourself, angel. Just come to the party.”

“Fine,” Aziraphale surrendered, accepting the cake Crowley offered him.

As much as Aziraphale protested at his weight and not fitting within the socially desirable limits of what the fashion industry decided people should look like; he liked food a lot. Crowley would gradually guide the conversation towards food Aziraphale liked, just to watch him ramble on about a restaurant he visited in London when visiting the theatre with his mother, or his preferred method of baking a perfect souffle, or how he wished he could travel to try new cuisines and delicacies. He explained that his mother’s poor health meant that travelling was never an option. If anyone had asked Crowley if he had interests in food and travelling, he would have likely laughed, yet he found himself hanging on every word as Aziraphale glowed and talked about his dreams for the future.

“Where would you go first?” Crowley asked, ignoring the fact that the hall was steadily emptying as the evening grew late.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and pondered this, “Oh, I don’t know… If I could go anywhere… I’d probably go to France first. Not too far and wonderful culture.”

“_Le Louvre_,” Crowley nodded, “_Modus_, _Gelerie Perrotin_, plenty of other art galleries I’d like to visit.”

“Why don’t you?” Aziraphale asked sweetly.

“Money, mostly,” Crowley admitted, “My mum pays for school, but my dad’s hard-up. Never really thought about it really.”

“You should go,” Aziraphale said encouragingly.

“I’ll go if you do,” Crowley teased with an easy smile, suddenly thinking about travelling to Paris and sharing a hotel room together, kissing chastely atop the Eiffel Tower, and walking beside the Seine, placing a padlock on _The Pont des Arts_. _When did I become such a soppy romantic?_ He thought to himself, struggling to control his heart.

Aziraphale blushed, “Oh, don’t be daft.”

“I’m not,” Crowley protested playfully, “If you don’t want to go alone, and we both want to go, we should go together.”

Aziraphale smiled, “A nice thought, but exams and university.”

“There are summer holidays,” Crowley pointed out, tingling at the idea of still being friends while Aziraphale was at university, “Which university do you want to go to?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed, “I have no idea really.”

“Alright,” Crowley muttered, “What would you like to study?”

“History and English,” Aziraphale stated instantly, “I’d like to go one to do a Masters’ course in Librarianship.”

“Librarianship?” Crowley queried, “Are you telling me librarians need a bloody degree?”

“Most things need a degree these days,” Aziraphale said bluntly.

“At least you have the brains for it,” Crowley shrugged, “I’ll probably spend my life scanning products in a shop for minimum wage until I retire.”

“What about your art?” Aziraphale asked kindly.

“Not exactly a source of income, angel,” Crowley smirked, “More of a hobby really. What university were you thinking of? Oxford? Cambridge?”

“I’m not _that_ smart,” Aziraphale protested humbly, but Crowley only laughed.

“Angel, I’ve known you for just over a month; you’re definitely smart enough,” Crowley removed his dark sunglasses despite the glare of the artificial light just to look him in the eye, “You can go to any university you want to, grades aren’t an issue for you. You just need the ambition and confidence to ask for what you want.”

“Well,” Aziraphale murmured modestly, “I was thinking of applying for St Andrews.”

Crowley stared at him, “Scotland?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale muttered nervously, “A little far perhaps, but it looks like such a lovely little town by the sea.”

“You do realise that’s the third highest ranking university after Cambridge and Oxford, right?” Crowley teased.

“Well you did say I was smart enough,” he retorted with a small smile, “What about you? What will you do after school, and don’t say work for minimum wage until you die.”

_Follow you to Scotland?_ Crowley found himself thinking in his head, “Dunno really, haven’t thought about it. Not like I’m leaving here with any qualifications anyway.”

Aziraphale frowned, “Well you must have passed at least six of your GCSEs last year in order to be here now.”

Crowley bit his lip, being smart was not something his friends valued so he had always downplayed his intelligence. Aziraphale was different though, he was oddly supportive of anything Crowley achieved, “Um… well, I passed the basics; maths, science, English, religious studies – still surprised by that one.”

Aziraphale smiled, “How did you do?”

Crowley froze for a moment, he placed his glasses back over his eyes and crossed his arms, “Well… uh, let’s see. I got a few Bs…”

“How many is a few?” Aziraphale probed.

“Uh… five?” Crowley admitted.

“You do know C or higher is a pass, right?” Aziraphale beamed at him.”

“I know!” Crowley hissed defensively, “I get A* in art and history, and an A in physics too.”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped, “Wow, that’s really good!”

“Oh, come off it, angel,” Crowley protested feebly, “I bet you got nothing lower than an A”

“True,” Aziraphale allowed, “But I bet you didn’t even study or revise. I revised and studied every night for _weeks_.”

“Shut up,” Crowley groaned, “I’m not smart. I drink, I smoke, and I get into fights.”

“And pass exams without even trying it would seem,” Aziraphale pointed out, smiling broadly while Crowley squirmed under his admiration.

“Gentleman,” A dinner lady said suddenly, “Time to go.”

They looked around the hall to find it empty and staff finishing cleaning. They got up and made their way towards their dorm to stay up for hours talking about anything and everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have little practical knowledge of STIs so please excuse me if my knowledge is a little off. This issue will be addressed again in the next chapter.
> 
> I passed my GCSEs in 2012 and I don't understand the new system - so I used the old score system (sorry)


	5. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crazy Halloween party gets out of control when an uninvited guest opens some old wounds.

A little over a week later, Aziraphale was standing in front of the mirror on the inside of his closet door and panicking. He had bought three costumes in the end and all were equally ridiculous. Worst of all, he had not seen Crowley all day as he was helping prepare for the party which everyone seemed to know about. Perhaps only the deviant kids stayed at school over the half-term break, or perhaps Aziraphale only noticed the chatter because he now knew what they were talking about.

Aziraphale sighed and turned back to the outfits on his bed. The had taken out a dark suit he wore for special occasions, the costume pieces were a top-hat and a fake knife as a sort of Jack-the-Ripper costume. The second was a rather cheap-looking wizard’s costume he had found in his size in a strange little costume shop in Oxford. The third was a shredded old shirt and some old trouser which were splattered with fake blood.

He looked at the suit; it was a very nice suit, and quite expensive. No, he could not risk ruining it. He looked at the tacky wizard’s costume and thought about people laughing at him. Then he looked at the shredded and bloodied old clothes; far too informal, and much too much flesh showing.

“Crowley’s supposed to be embarrassed, not me!” Aziraphale groaned and looked back at his wardrobe, which was when something caught his eye; he had another costume after all. Slowly he took out the halo and wings for the play and looked at them, he glanced and the robes and decided against them as the October air was far too cold for that, but a pale cream suit might do. He dressed and put on the wings and halo; not scary, not morbid or horrific, not particularly casual for a party either, but it was a costume and what was stranger than an angel in a den of iniquity? He groaned, “What am I doing? I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

A knock at the door made him jump.

“Aziraphale?” Anathema’s voice called out, none of the doors were locked except the external ones, and girls were not supposed to be in male dorms or vice versa.

“Anathema?” Aziraphale called, a stupid question, but he needed to say something.

“Are you coming?” She asked, “We’re going to be late.”

“Coming? Late for what?” Aziraphale asked and panicked as the handle turned.

“The party of course,” She said frowning, then she smiled. She was dressed as a witch, not sexy like some of the ludicrous outfits Aziraphale had seen in the costume shop, nor childish. She wore a long Edwardian gown in dark blue with a high collar and long sleeves, and atop her head was a pointed hat.

Aziraphale trusted her not to laugh, but he was burning with embarrassment.

“You look great,” Newt said as he entered the room behind Anathema. He was dressed in a casual suit and fake glassed, but beneath the thin shirt, Aziraphale saw he was wearing another top with a large ‘S’ on it. He thought it looked vaguely similar to a comic book he had seen Newt reading once.

“I look stupid,” Aziraphale corrected, pulling off the halo.

Anathema smiled softly and approached him, glancing at the other options, “I like this one better, I think. Blood and guts are a little overdone. Lose the blazer.”

Aziraphale shrugged off the jacket, and Anathema pondered for a moment, “And the tie. Yes, I know you like the tie, but take it off.”

Aziraphale did as he was bid, and Anathema pulled him towards the mirror. White shirt with the top button undone, smart pale trousers, white wings over his shoulders, and Anathema ruffled his pale curls before putting his halo back on.

“Better,” She said with a smile, “A little more casual, a little more daring. Come on!”

They walked out of the dorm and out into the cold night, the moonlight provided enough light to see where they were going. There was no sign of activity at the pool house until someone burst out of the double doors to throw up in the shrubbery outside.

“See, Newt,” Anathema said smugly, “That’s why you need this.”

Aziraphale looked at the big black cross on the back of her hand.

“I thought you said you needed this to get in?” Newt protested and still rather confused as to why the other person was throwing up.

“I forgot,” Aziraphale muttered, looking at his clean hands.

“I’m sure someone inside will have a pen,” Anathema reasoned, “If you want.”

Aziraphale was not sure, he suspected most sixth-form students would be drinking, but he had never had alcohol before, he did not know his limits or even know if he liked alcohol. He sighed and followed the two fourteen-year-olds inside. Until this moment in time he had not realised how well insulated and sound-proofed this building was until he walked into a wall of sound; modern music he could not understand the appeal of. He paid an entry fee which Crowley had failed to mention but thankfully had some cash on him for such purposes. A barrier had been put up around the pool to stop drunkards drowning themselves and the space near the diving boards had been turned into a dance floor. Aziraphale looked through the crowd, there were maybe thirty people, and then he looked up at the open-air viewing gallery where there were at least another twenty getting drunk and talking over the noise. Anathema and Newt had thrown themselves onto the dance floor, and Aziraphale was left standing alone on the side-lines. He saw a table of drinks and snacks and walked over.

“Let me see your hands,” The woman said, though she did not dress very womanly, “Alcohol?”

“What do you have?” Aziraphale asked nervously, not knowing the correct answer.

They sighed, “Um, vodka, rum, beer, cider, lager, and special punch. Got pre-prepared cocktails too.”

“What’s in the punch?” Aziraphale asked cautiously.

“Mostly fruit juice and tequila,” They answered with a smirk.

“All right then,” Aziraphale nodded, he vaguely recalled reading tequila was made from cactus and wondered what it tasted like. She poured him a cup of orange drink and handed it to him, “How much is that?”

“You paid the five-pound entry fee, right?” They shouted over the noise, Aziraphale nodded, “Then you already paid for it.”

Aziraphale stepped back and bumped into someone, “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” He smiled, “Hey, Bee.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The bartender retorted dryly.

“I provided the booze,” The tall man reasoned, placing a firm hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Thought I’d meet some people. Not jealous, are you?”

“It’s over between us,” Bee stated bluntly, “And you’ve been paid. If he sees you here, he’ll kill you.”

“Tony hasn’t got it in him,” The tall man chuckled, he looked Aziraphale over, “Besides, how else am I supposed to find pretty boys like this one.”

Aziraphale pulled away, mortified that this stranger seemed to already know what he was and rather concerned at the feeling that this man had somehow claimed him without permission. Aziraphale pulled himself out of the stranger’s grasp and walked away, trying to shake off the feeling of threat the other man exuded. He found the stairs to the viewing gallery and made his way up and found a seat overlooking the dance floor. There were more drinks up here and Aziraphale helped himself to some more punch, rather enjoying the fuzzy feeling in his head. There was a loud shout and a chorus of wolf-whistles that caught his attention, but from his seat in the gallery, he could not see what had prompted the reaction.

“Hello, angel,” Crowley’s familiar voice came from behind him.

Aziraphale turned to find Crowley standing behind him smiling like an idiot, and Aziraphale nearly spat out his drink. He struggled to contain the laughter while trying to take in Crowley’s outfit. Strangely, the first thing Aziraphale had noticed was Crowley’s hair, it was usually a little curly, but he had clearly spent some time curling it to form obvious ringlets, and carefully placed small devil horns which were nestled amongst the curls on top. He noticed his eyes, in the dim light, he was not wearing his usual sunglasses, his dazzling amber eyes glistened, contrasting beautifully with the black eyeliner, false lashes, and silver-grey eye shadow. He was wearing a one-shoulder dress too, tight, short, and black, which clung to his narrow hips and he was clearly wearing a strapless bra of sorts to give the dress it’s intended shape. He also wore black fishnet stockings and glossy black high heels, clearly having shaved his legs for the outfit.

“Well?” Crowley said expectantly after Aziraphale had looked him over.

Aziraphale turned his grin into a cocky smile, “I thought you said you would wear something embarrassing?”

“Shut up,” Crowley teased and sat down beside him, “Look at you being naughty.”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale stammered, still rather surprisingly distracted by Crowley’s dress and lipstick, Crowley looked pointedly at his clean hands and the orange punch in his hand, “Oh! Well, I thought I could at least try it.”

“You forgot,” Crowley said knowingly, drinking his own drink which was bloodred in colour.

“I forgot,” Aziraphale nodded, “But, I can always have something non-alcoholic later if it gets too much.”

“True,” Crowley nodded, “Do you know what’s in it?”

“Um…” Aziraphale thought for a moment, “Tequila.”

“Tequila, orange juice, pineapple juice, carrot juice, and pumpkin juice,” Crowley stated simply, “It’s one I came up with a year ago.”

“Well it’s very nice,” Aziraphale smiled, “What are you drinking?”

“Bloody Mary,” Crowley answered and then elaborated, “Vodka, tomato juice, a little lemon, Worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, and chilli sauce.”

“What the fuck?” Aziraphale giggled, “That sounds vile!”

“I can’t believe you just swore!” Crowley laughed, “You wanna try it?”

Aziraphale looked at the drink suspiciously, “Oh, alright.”

It was definitely just as weird as it sounded, but not entirely unpleasant, though he doubted he would want to drink it again. They sat in comfortable silence, as the party grew wilder beside the pool as the older students got drunker. The funniest thing was when the younger students began appearing drunk, despite only being served fruit juice and fizzy drinks; because they thought they were being given alcohol, they acted just as drunk. Crowley pointed out that Ligur and Bee weren’t drinking, they always pulled lots as to which two of them would supervise the younger guests and pointed out Mrs Tracy watching from the gallery.

Suddenly, Crowley stood and grabbed a couple of abandoned drinks and disposed of the liquids down the drinking fountain in the corner. Aziraphale looked at him curiously as he returned to his seat, “Why did you do that?”

Crowley gave him a blank look, “Oh, never leave a drink unattended. Some people here think it’s funny to slip people drugs or spike drinks with twice the amount of alcohol. See an abandoned drink; throw it away.”

“I’m quite surprised at how organised you all are,” Aziraphale mused and then saw Crowley’s mildly insulted expression, “For a dysfunctional party promoting underage drinking, that’s organised by persons known for their… extracurricular activities involving rather dubious substances; it all seems rather… safe.”

“Not as safe as it could be,” Crowley shrugged, “But drugs always get in somehow. Dagon swears it’s not them, but they’re all liars. They probably bring the stuff for themselves and get pickpocketed by some stupid year 10.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Aziraphale offered, truthfully, he was wondering how this was a regular occurrence without anyone knowing, “Why is Mrs Tracy here?”

“To supervise,” Crowley shrugged again, looking awfully cold in his skimpy dress, “She decided it was better to join us and keep her mouth shut than try and get it shut down. She decided it was safer she supervise us and risk her career, than force us underground where someone could get hurt or killed due to not being looked after properly.”

“So, drugs are frowned upon, but alcohol isn’t?” Aziraphale queried, he needed to distract himself before he did something stupid and pull Crowley into his arms and keep him warm.

“The alcohol content is rather small in the cocktails,” Crowley murmured, grinning as Aziraphale frowned, “Most people here haven’t had alcohol before; too strong and they’ll pass out. There’s maybe half a shot it that cup.”

Aziraphale blushed, “I believe I’m a lightweight then.”

Crowley laughed, “Everyone’s a lightweight the first time, angel. The first time I get drunk was on two bottles of WKDs.”

“WKD?”

“Really weak alcopop,” Crowley laughed, “Bloody pathetic really, but I was thirteen and skinny. The worst part was, I kept drinking. I didn’t know my limits and I threw up… a lot.”

“Thirteen is awfully young to start drinking,” Aziraphale commented, rather concerned about the life Crowley had been living, “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Meh,” Crowley shrugged, gulping down his drink, “You’re starting to sound like Harriet.”

“Maybe you should see that therapist,” Aziraphale teased.

Crowley grimaced, “Why would I need a therapist when I have you?”

Aziraphale smiled shyly and drank his drink. Crowley rose to his feet a little unsteadily on his heels, “I’m getting another drink. You want one?”

“Sure,” Aziraphale nodded, then watched Crowley walk towards the table to get some more drinks and talk to Ligur. Aziraphale had never been particularly attracted to girls, he thought plenty were pretty, but only in the way a friend would tell someone that they looked nice. He had seen transvestites on occasion but had never seen the appeal in wearing uncomfortable-looking shoes, or wearing copious amounts of makeup, nor did he think it made them particularly attractive. In his years of denial, he had refused to acknowledge his feelings and certainly had not identified a ‘type’, but somehow anything Crowley did made him feel… everything. Crowley was very attractive and even in a dress and heels, Aziraphale could not help but stare. _Were you still gay if you desired people who were gender-fluid? Did Crowley even identify as male? Do I really care about labels when he’s bloody gorgeous?_

Aziraphale found he was staring and pulled his attention back to the dance floor below, when someone sat down beside him, “Nice feathers.”

Aziraphale turned to find the stranger from downstairs leering at him, and felt a wave of panic, like a gazelle that had realised it had been spotted by a lion, “Um, thank you?”

“So, what’s a pretty boy like you doing sitting all alone?” He said, perhaps it was supposed to be a pick-up line, but it sounded like a threat. He was obviously older, though Aziraphale suspected he was younger than he looked; the lines on his face and his hollow cheeks made him look in his mid-twenties, but his pale blue eyes were youthful and heavily dilated. He had very dark hair and high cheekbones, he might have been considered attractive in the eyes of some people.

Aziraphale resisted the urge to run, and smiled nervously, “I’m not alone. A friend’s getting us drinks.”

The stranger pouted, “Why are all the pretty ones always spoken for. I can assure you I can show you a good time.”

“I… I’m not…” Aziraphale panicked, finishing his drink quickly.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lucien?” Crowley said loudly, drawing the attention of both Aziraphale’s and the man who was apparently Lucien.

Lucien stood and whistled, taking in Crowley’s devilish costume, “My, my, Tony you look absolutely ravishing.”

_Tony’s going to kill him_, Aziraphale thought suddenly, He stood and took his drink from Crowley who was staring Lucien down, “Thank you.”

“Oh!” Lucien laughed, “So you’re the one doting on the pretty bird.”

“You’re not supposed to be here, Lucien,” Crowley stated flatly, “Get out.”

“Why?” Lucien smiled, “And miss all the fun? I get _lonely_.”

“No one here is going to fuck you,” Crowley laughed.

“I don’t recall you complaining,” Lucien muttered sensually, stepping up to the redhead, “I remember you enjoying it.”

Aziraphale stood there awkwardly, not wanting to get involved in the lover’s quarrel, but before he knew it, he was speaking, “I thought you were sleeping with Bee?”

Lucien turned his devilish smile towards the blond, “So? I’ve slept with lots of people.”

“Stay out of this, angel,” Crowley warned, not taking his eyes off the dark-haired man.

“So?” Aziraphale stammered, feeling oddly confident, “Bee doesn’t want you anymore, and Crowley’s asked you to leave.”

“And what do you want… _angel?”_ Lucien teased, but Crowley grabbed his arm to stop him moving closer to the blond.

“Fuck off Lucien,” Crowley warned.

“I think it best you leave,” Aziraphale agreed.

Lucien smirked and his expression darkened as he turned back to Crowley, “You know, Anthony, you’re a two-faced bastard. You take my booze, and the smokes, and you dress like _that_. Yet somehow I’m the monster?”

“I don’t fuck people without protection and then tell them I have _several_ sexually transmitted diseases!” Crowley shouted, drawing the attention of several other people.

“I was fifteen!” Lucien protested.

“And you knew!” Crowley screamed back, “You knew, and you fucked me anyway. You didn’t even tell me! I had to search your medication on my phone! I am never going to fuck you again! And I will be damned if I let anyone else fuck you either!”

Aziraphale sipped his drink not knowing what to do, he was not used to sexuality being spoken about so openly, certainly when involving a young man, he found so breathtakingly attractive. He had, of course, wondered about Crowley’s… inclinations, but he would have preferred to find out through any other means than him shouting at a man who had betrayed Crowley’s trust.

Lucien was laughing at the redhead, mocking him, “Now, now Tony, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I definitely didn’t enjoy the endless fucking blood tests, urine tests, swabs, and physical inspections,” Crowley spat back, “It’s a fucking miracle I’m not infected given the list of infections you have! Now get out!”

Lucien sucked his teeth, “And if I don’t?”

Crowley’s fist crashed against the taller man’s jaw. Suddenly everyone in the gallery were on their feet and shouting as the two men scrambled and hit each other. Aziraphale stepped back, not knowing what to do, suddenly he looked round for Mrs Tracy, but to his dismay, he saw her down by the pool talking to Anathema; the loud music drowning out the shouts from the gallery. A scream drew Aziraphale’s attention back to the fight, but he was relieved to realise Lucien was the one in pain after Crowley had stood on his foot with his sharp heels. Lucien lunged at Crowley and knocked him over the barrier.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale screamed, he ran to the barrier to see Crowley break the surface of the water and smile. Aziraphale was faintly aware of other people looking over the barrier and several students yelling from the dancefloor.

“Let’s see if pretty birds can fly!” Lucien shouted with a laugh.

_He called me a pretty bird_, Aziraphale thought distantly shortly before feeling someone grab his shoulder and pushed him over the barrier and into the water below. He kicked to the surface and laughed uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny?” Crowley asked, swimming towards him, his makeup smudged and still stunning.

“I’m not sure!” He giggled, splashing at Crowley. Several people jumped into the water splashing and screaming as the dull, repetitive noise of their so-called music continued relentlessly.

“Damn that was terrifying,” Crowley sighed, relaxing in the water as he watched Lucien storm out.

“Falling or getting into a fight?” Aziraphale asked sincerely.

“Both.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale murmured.

“For what?”

“For not helping,” He muttered in dismay, “I just stood there and did nothing.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and smiled, “There was nothing you could have done, angel. If you had tried, he would have only bruised your pretty face.”

Aziraphale blushed, treading water as Crowley dived to retrieve his shoes from the bottom of the pool. He faltered slightly, struggling to focus, “Crowley?”

Crowley broke the surface only to dive back under for the other shoe. Aziraphale’s mind hummed, and his vision blurred, He barely noticed when he slipped under the surface of the water. Crowley resurfaced, then turned to see Aziraphale slipping under the water. He dropped his shoes and swam for him, hoisting him up under his arms so his face was above the water level.

“Aziraphale? Hey! Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled, clinging onto him as he swam toward the poolside and struggled to lift him out of the water. He was breathing but barely conscious, “Fuck! Angel stay awake. Come on!”

Crowley got to his feet and half dragged Aziraphale to the changing rooms and almost dropped him next to a toilet, “Please tell me you have a gag-reflex,” He murmured as he pushed his fingers to the back of Aziraphale’s throat. Suddenly, he felt Aziraphale shuddered and removed his fingers before Aziraphale emptied his stomach into the toilet.

“What happened earlier?” Mrs Tracy said, clearly wanting an explanation as to why someone threw them into the pool. She rounded the corner and stopped as she saw Crowley muttering to Aziraphale who was throwing up violently and crying, “What’s going on?”

“Party’s over,” Crowley stated bluntly, “I’m pretty sure Lucien spiked his drink. He damn near drowned in the pool.”

“Does he need an ambulance?” Mrs Tracy asked cautiously, she had a duty of care, but also knew it would cost her everything.

“Nah,” Crowley said after a moment of contemplation, “He should be fine, he needs to sleep it off. The official course of action is to go to A & E, but most places leave you in the waiting room until the immediate effects wear off. Hopefully, he just slipped some vodka into his drink.”

“Was it Lucien who threw you in the pool?” She asked delicately.

“Yep,” He replied, rubbing Aziraphale’s back.

“Some of the students said the quarrel was about sex,” She added carefully.

Crowley sighed and met her gaze, “Marj, you know me. You know I’m queer, you’ve seen enough of my art to know.”

“Of course,” She nodded, “They said HIV was mentioned.”

Crowley rubbed his eyes, “Yes, alright! Lucien has STIs, I don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mrs Tracy nodded, “Keep him safe, and Crowley? If you need to talk, I’m here for you.”

She left and Crowley groaned, he rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and for a moment he forgot about his fear of Lucien, his gut-wrenching fear as he fell into the pool, the fear of seeing Aziraphale slipping under the water, the fear of everyone knowing his sexual orientation and experience. He held Aziraphale and muttered soft words of comfort until he seemed able to focus and stand. He let Aziraphale lean against him as they walked out of the empty pool house and into the brisk night towards their dorm.

Crowley lowered Aziraphale onto the couch and began pulling his soggy shoes off his feet and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his shoulders as he tentatively began undoing his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale said groggily.

“Getting you out of these wet clothes, angel,” Crowley retorted, pulling off his shirt and grabbing his pyjama-top off his bed. Aziraphale had wrapped the towel tightly around his chest to cover his exposed flesh, “Come on, angel, you need to put this on.”

Aziraphale reluctantly accepted the top and shrugged off the towel, Crowley averted his eyes not wanting to take advantage of the sight before him. He helped Aziraphale stand and averted his gaze as Aziraphale removed his trousers and underwear and pulled on his matching tartan pyjama-bottoms.

“There we are,” Crowley smiled, guiding him to his bed, he tucked Aziraphale in, he filled a glass of water from the washbasin in the corner and placed it beside him, “Plenty of water. Your head is going to hurt in the morning but keeping hydrated will help. Trust me.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured weakly.

Crowley resisted the urge to snuggled up against him and fall asleep in his arms, “Get some rest, angel.”

“You look nice,” Aziraphale murmured as Crowley stood and grabbed his own nightclothes, he glanced at the mirror; his shoes were missing, probably still in the pool, his makeup was a smudged mess, his hair looked worse, his dress had a tear from his fight with Lucien, and his fishnet stockings had fewer holes than they had before. Crowley looked back at Aziraphale who was smiling lazily, “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not,” Aziraphale pouted and closed his eyes, “You’re pretty.”

Crowley blushed and smiled, he waited a few moments, making sure Aziraphale was asleep before letting his smiled fall, “And you won’t remember a thing.”


	6. A Good Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale slowly become more comfortable with each other and begin addressing their fears together, while keeping their hopes to themselves.

Crowley shivered; apparently awful weather did not excuse them from sports, and apparently the girls had claimed the warm pool. He stood in his thin polo shirt, shorts, and trainers in the cool gym while their teacher explained how to use the gym equipment safely. He rolled his eyes and ignored every word, at least gym was better than rugby, but he had no inclination to do any exercise and even if he did, the simple instructions for each machine were displayed in pictograms. He looked around for Aziraphale and frowned; he had not been in the changing rooms either.

Eventually, the teacher stopped talking and the athletic boys bounded into the gym excitedly, leaving a few stragglers. Ligur pulled Hastur towards a machine that apparently helped with arm strength and Crowley drifted towards an exercise bike. He had been on the bike for a few minutes when he saw Aziraphale enter the gym and apologise for being late, before surprisingly drifting towards the weights. Crowley slowed, everything about Aziraphale’s body language told him Aziraphale was feeling fragile, that he had changed into his gym kit in their room to avoid stares in the boys changing room, that some unseen bully had said something horrible again. Crowley watched Aziraphale as he fumbled with some weights as his paranoia and anxiety began to work overtime; _was it someone in this room, was it more than insults and cruel comments? _Crowley got off the bike and walked towards the weights corner, walking just outside Aziraphale’s peripheral vision until he could walk up to Aziraphale’s head without him seeing him approach while he lay back and prepared to lift the weights he had prepared.

“You know…” Crowley smiled, walking into his line of sight, “You’re supposed to have a partner for this one.”

“A spotter,” Aziraphale murmured numbly.

For a moment Crowley wondered if it was him making Aziraphale uncomfortable; they had not spoken about Halloween much at all, Aziraphale had mentioned that he remembered the fight and throwing up and very little else, and Crowley had no idea whether bringing up his sexuality would make Aziraphale more uncomfortable than he already was. Crowley glanced at the circular disks affixed to the pole Aziraphale was holding, preparing to lift them off the hooks, “seventy kilos? That seems like a lot.”

Aziraphale smiled, “Not really. I’m stronger than I look.”

Crowley relaxed a little, “Come on then, not sure I’ll be much good if you lose your grip, but I’ll try.”

Aziraphale chuckled and lifted the weights off the hooks and carefully lowered them before lifting them back into the air. Crowley lifted an eyebrow as Aziraphale lifted and lowered the weights with ease, counting the lifts and keeping his hands close the bar in case he slipped. Eventually, Aziraphale lifted the weights towards the hooks, and Crowley guided him and helped him put them down, trying not to get too distracted by Aziraphale sweating and panting on his back.

“Thank you,” He muttered quietly as he sat up.

“Of course,” Crowley shrugged, “What do you want to do next?”

Aziraphale chuckled, “How about I help you do some exercise?”

“Oh, no. I don’t do sport,” Crowley protested.

“Neither do I,” Aziraphale said defensively, “Books are heavy, lifting weights is about all I can do.”

“Well, do more weights then,” Crowley argued, wanting to get out of actually doing anything.

“Then I will hurt myself,” Aziraphale reasoned, “Come on, there must be something in here…”

“Or we sneak out?” Crowley offered, “I used to do it all the time.”

Aziraphale frowned, “But that’s against the rules.”

“So’s drinking underage until you pass out,” Crowley teased quietly.

“I was drugged,” Aziraphale protested, he tried to look insulted, but a smile was fighting against his stern expression, “Besides, what would we do?”

Crowley shrugged and pouted, “Go to the library?”

“Do you even know where the library is?” Aziraphale teased playfully.

“Rude,” Crowley chuckled, he glanced around and grabbed Aziraphale’s arm pulling him swiftly out of the gym, “Ta-da! I need to grab my clothes.”

Aziraphale followed him meekly to the boys’ changing room and then they walked back to their dorm to dress, before heading to the library. PE was the last class of the day, but Aziraphale loved books and so Crowley had decided he probably felt safe there, and he was right. Aziraphale perked up and fluttered among the bookcases to find something to read while Crowley sketched images he was not yet ready to show him. After a while, Crowley finally mustered his courage and put down his pencil, “Angel, you need to tell me who’s bullying you.”

Aziraphale frowned slightly, pretending to read his book but Crowley saw that his eyes were no longer following the sentence, “No one’s bullying me.”

“You are a terrible liar, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed, “Tell me, tell a teacher, tell _someone_. Please?”

Aziraphale looked up and smiled, “You’re very kind, but I’m fine.”

“When I met you, you were suffering from an eating disorder, you’re nervous around other students, and I know when something’s happened,” Crowley protested, throwing his sunglasses aside, “Please, angel, it’s been weeks. Someone said something to you today. I know because I can see the effect it’s had on you. Please, just tell me who?”

Aziraphale gulped, panic and fear easily discernible in his ocean-blue eyes, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Crowley insisted, “It’s making you ill. It needs to stop now. Today. Just… tell me.”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale stammered and ran, Crowley ran to the door after him but realised chasing him would not help. He sighed and tried not to worry more than he already was.

He returned to the corner they had been sitting in and collected his things when the librarian silently approached him, “What did you do?”

Crowley stood and faced her, “Me? Nothing.”

She folded her arms and glowered at him.

Crowley relaxed, “I want to know who’s bullying him, but he won’t tell me. The more I push the more upset he gets.”

The woman’s composure faltered, “Someone’s bullying him?”

This surprised Crowley, to him the difference was as obvious as hail on a greenhouse, yet somehow everyone else was clueless, “Yeah, he was trying to starve himself with diet pills when I met him.”

He stormed out, not waiting for the librarian’s reaction. He was too angry and distressed to have to explain the obvious to the obtuse. He made his way to the drama studio which was mercifully empty and grabbed a can of spray-paint and a face mask, making sure he opened all the windows so as to not kill himself with the fumes as he set to work on the stage sets. They had tried getting the panels out onto the tennis courts, but the weather was so awful that the plywood would likely rot before he could finish them, so they had taped plastic sheets to the walls and floor to stop paint damaging them and threw the windows open for ventilation while he worked. After a while he decided the silence was unbearable and plugged his phone into the sound system, blasting his Queen playlist as he worked. The sun set, and after several hours he finally stepped back to look at the progress he had made, only to fall over someone.

“Ow! What the fuck!” Crowley yelped behind his facemask, someone cut the music as he scrambled to his feet, “You okay?”

“Yeah!” Brian said, muffled behind his facemask. Crowley looked around to see the drama studio full of students and staff wearing facemasks to stop them from inhaling the fumes from the paint.

“Um… hi?” Crowley said nervously, removing his facemask and looking at the faces around the room.

“I have to say, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his soft voice muffled behind his facemask, “You are very good.”

“Shut up,” Crowley hissed, “Why is everyone staring? How long have you all been standing there?”

“A few hours,” Aziraphale said warmly removing his mask and smiling as Crowley squirmed with embarrassment, “But it is enchanting watching you paint.”

Some people were leaving now that he had stopped painting, some were taking pictures on their smartphones. It was just a starry night, just what Aziraphale had asked for, yet somehow everyone was in awe. He had blended purples and blues for the many shades of the night sky, placed stars strategically across the night as best as his memory would allow from years of gazing dreamily at astrology books. He looked at it and saw nothing particularly special and something nowhere near completed, but he could see the literally star-struck astonishment on their faces at his efforts and melted a little inside.

“I have to say, Mr Fell,” Ms Godwin said as she approached them, “Your powers of persuasion astound me. Perhaps you could even encourage him to do his homework.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Crowley smirked, “If I did my homework, I wouldn’t have time to paint.”

Ms Godwin narrowed her eyes with stern dissatisfaction but said nothing further as she followed the others out of the studio. Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves standing in silent contemplation, literally watching paint dry.

“Sorry,” Crowley muttered.

“For what?” Aziraphale whispered.

“Upsetting you,” Crowley sighed, “I’m worried about you. You’re clearly going through a lot and I seem to be the only idiot who’s noticed. I’m certainly not a model for mental health and stability, but I’m here for you.”

Aziraphale stood beside him in silence for a while, a little too long, “Thank you.”

Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes as Aziraphale walked away, fighting the urge to say more on the subject.

“Dinner?” Aziraphale asked meekly, holding the door open.

Crowley turned around and smiled, “Of course, angel.”

*** * ***

Crowley learned pretty quickly that Aziraphale did not sleep much. He would still be reading as Crowley closed his heavy eyes and would be wide awake as Crowley groggily crawled out of bed in the morning.

“Do you ever sleep?” Crowley groaned as he collapsed on his bed, glancing over at the blond who was propped up with pillows; reading glasses perched on his nose and a cup of cocoa sitting forgotten beside him.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said softly, not looking up from his page, “Just not as much as you.”

“You know you’re supposed to get eight hours of sleep a night, right?” Crowley mumbled, trying to get comfortable. Aziraphale looked comfortable, soft and wrapped in warm tartan pyjamas. Crowley usually wore a t-shirt and boxers to bed, and his bed was usually far too cold and lonely.

“Then why do you sleep for ten?” Aziraphale retorted with a smile, “You’d sleep for longer if I weren’t waking you up in the morning.”

“How much sleep do you get?” Crowley asked sincerely.

Aziraphale looked up and frowned, “About four hours, I suppose.”

“Reading?”

“Reading,” Aziraphale nodded, “I shower in the mornings too.”

“While everyone’s asleep,” Crowley said knowingly as Aziraphale returned to his book silently. He stared at him, wishing he could see what Crowley saw; an intelligent, funny, loving, compassionate, beauty. Crowley stared at him, reading in the soft glow of his bedside lamp until he drifted into a deep sleep.

After some time Aziraphale looked up and smiled, Crowley always looked so peaceful and happy when he was asleep. He recalled more of Halloween than he let on, not knowing what to do with the information that Crowley liked men, and just because he liked men did not mean he liked Aziraphale in that way. Crowley was confident and sexy, and Aziraphale hated to admit that he intimidated him a little, reminding him that he was fat and pathetic. Aziraphale had never told anyone that he was gay, not even daring to whisper the words while alone, and yet Crowley had openly called out his ex-boyfriend and dressed in drag. Crowley was everything he was not, and that made him fascinating and terrifying.

Some four hours later Aziraphale felt himself become aware of Crowley’s gentle breathing and decided to get up. He could never sleep for long; his mother usually woke him the prayers at dawn and his body seemed to think waking around four or five in the morning was normal. He no longer prayed every morning, although he did not tell this to his mother, nor did he pray every day anymore. He had nothing left to pray for; death, famine, and disease still tore through the world, wars still murdered children and drove people from the ruins that were once their home, his mother had her health, he was doing well academically, he was still gay. Instead, he donated pocket money to charity, worked at a food bank over the Christmas holidays, donated unwanted clothes, and kept his thoughts and feelings to himself; neither accepting nor denying himself.

He stretched and pulled his slippers onto his feet before brushing his teeth quietly and grabbing his towel before leaving Crowley alone and heading for the showers. He found himself thinking of Crowley every time florescent lights flickered into life as he walked through the dark corridors and set off the motion sensors in the toilets and the showers. He wondered momentarily if her showered with his sunglasses on and suddenly found himself shamefully thinking of Crowley on the shower. He walked to his usual cubicle and nervously undressed, leaving his clothes neatly folded on the bench before stepping into the cubicle and switching on the shower, stepping back until the water was warm enough to be comfortable.

He stopped, listening to the water as he wondered if he had heard something. Just as he decided it was nothing, he heard footsteps on the hard floors outside. He stopped and waited, checking the cubicle door was locked the eyed the approaching shadow with silent dread.

“Hello?” Gabriel called casually.

Aziraphale felt his throat tighten. Usually, Gabriel would taunt him sporadically, perhaps weeks would pass without incident, but we had only tormented him yesterday, though perhaps the verbal abuse had not sated his twisted desires.

“Hey!” Said a second voice, and Aziraphale jumped, unable to identify the voice over the sound of the water.

“Hello,” Gabriel said, and his shadow stopped approaching, “You haven’t seen a watch, have you?”

Aziraphale recognised the lie and sighed with relief knowing Gabriel would not wish to make a scene.

“Nope,” The second voice said, still distant and quiet over the noise of the shower Aziraphale was hiding in.

“Oh well. I’m sure it’ll turn up eventually,” Gabriel said, and the shadow left. Aziraphale relaxed until he heard someone approaching again, he bit his lip as his heart drummed in his ribcage.

“You alright angel?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale almost laughed with relief, “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Crowley said and then made some sounds that sounded suspiciously like getting undressed and Aziraphale panicked slightly, “That one’s bloody weird. I mean who goes to the showers at half four in the morning to look for a bloody watch?”

Aziraphale smiled and relaxed, “No idea. What are you doing up?”

“Heard you leave,” Crowley replied, stepping into the next cubicle, “Decided I might as well- fuck that’s cold!”

Aziraphale laughed as he watched Crowley’s shadow jump to the other side of the cubicle until the water in his shower warmed up. Then he frowned, “It took you twenty minutes to get out of bed?”

“Twenty?” Crowley half-shouted over the water, “Nah, you left five minutes ago.”

“No, I didn’t!” Aziraphale protested, turning off the water having washed all the bubbles from his hair, “I’ve been up since four.”

Crowley turned off his shower, “Who the fuck was in our room then?”

*** * ***

Crowley whined and complained, but truth be told, he was having the time of his life. Dress rehearsals were hilarious, and today the tree was ready. He had thought Aziraphale was joking when he told him that he wanted the Snake of Eden to climb down from the Tree of Knowledge until Crowley saw the basic framework for an artificial tree in one of the design technology classrooms. Now the was a fake tree standing on the stage in the auditorium and he was expected to climb it.

“No ropes I’m afraid,” One of the drama tech kids muttered nervously, “They’d only get snagged on the branches.”

“How much weight can that thing take?” Crowley asked nervously, knowing all too well that it had to take his weight for the first scene and then he and Aziraphale needed to sit in it for the last scene of the first act.

“Should take about five people before it topples over,” The kid said, not very reassuringly, “There’s a ladder at the back; just don’t fall out.”

Crowley frowned, hoisted up the hem of his lose-fitting black and silver-grey robe and got in the tree, it felt surprisingly sturdy and took his weight easily. It was not too high, the branch he was instructed to sit on was maybe only five feet from the floor, but enough to make him nervous when considering the tree was on a stage and the incline of the auditorium triggered his vertigo.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked gently, Crowley had not noticed him climb the false tree behind him and smiled. He was not wearing his halo, or the new air of wings he had made after the incident in the pool, but he was wearing his robe which was identical to Crowley’s in every way except it was white and gold.

“Yeah,” He said a little nervously, “Not nearly as high as I’d feared.”

“Anathema, Newt, and I tested it yesterday,” Aziraphale admitted, “We wanted to be sure you’d be safe.”

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley muttered, an old school ground rhyme running through his head, “I think you’ve outdone yourself.”

“When you do the same play every year, you have to do something original and different just to keep the audience happy,” Aziraphale smiled, “Particularly in the first act.”

“I can’t remember if you were in last year’s play,” Crowley admitted, “I was a bit drunk and rather high.”

Aziraphale giggled, “I bet you were singing along.”

“I never!” Crowley lied, knowing all too well he was thrown out of the hall before the seasonal second act for singing and dancing terribly.

“No,” Aziraphale answered softly, “I wasn’t in last year’s play. I had the flu, not that I had a major role anyway.”

“Ah,” Crowley nodded, “I thought I’d remember you.”

Aziraphale smiled and blushed slightly, “Believe it or not, but I have stage fright.”

“You don’t!” Crowley exclaimed, “Why on earth are you doing this to yourself?”

“To attempt to overcome my fears,” Aziraphale answered softly.

Crowley frowned and looked down, “Is it helping?”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale allowed, before carefully climbing back down the tree.

Crowley sat there with his thoughts for a while, a stupid rhyme repeating itself in his head; _Crowley and Zira, sitting in a tree; K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage._

Crowley lowered himself from the branch as was scripted in the play and found it surprisingly easy. He was never one to climb trees as a child and was only just starting to see the appeal.

Aziraphale walked up beside him, “About the second act it’s not too late to change the script.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley smirked, “Honestly I think it’s going to be terrifyingly fun. Like a rollercoaster.”

“Except you’ll be on stage in front of a thousand people in a dress,” Aziraphale retorted, clearly concerned, “Look, I’ve asked enough of you as it is. You don’t have to go on the ropes.”

“I read the script before I agreed to this, angel,” Crowley reasoned, “I’ll at least try it. If I scream my head off and need a sedative, I won’t do it on the night.”

Aziraphale scowled, “I’m being serious, Crowley.

“So am I!” Crowley grinned, jumping down from the stage as the tech kids worked their magic; adjusting the lights and the props. Crowley winced slightly as they tested the intensity or the dozens of lights that illuminated the stage from every angle.

“Your scenes will use the bare minimum of lights,” Aziraphale said reassuringly, “On the lowest settings too.”

“Thanks,” Crowley muttered, “I actually got something the other day.”

He pulled out two small glass vials for Aziraphale to inspect.

“Contact lenses?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah!” Crowley said excitedly, “They were sold as cats’ eyes, but there’s not much difference between cat and snake eyes. But, the shape of them limits the amount of light. It might not work, but worth a go.”

Mrs Nutter was watching from the back row and Aziraphale walked over to discuss the set with her while Crowley videoed Warlock hitting Adam playfully with baby Jesus while Pepper rode around on John’s back making horse noises. Crowley found himself wondering if he had every experienced fun before he met Aziraphale; his childhood had been lonely, his life in secondary school spent mostly in detention, getting high had been fun until it was time to come back down. He realised to his surprise that he had not had alcohol since Halloween, nearly a month ago. Hastur was right, for the first time in his life, Crowley was happy, although his turbulent mind reminded him that this happiness was temporary and utterly dependent on a certain beautiful boy.

He’d realised he was in love some time ago, and that was terrifying. Love could so easily turn into a weakness; Lucien had made that clear. He could handle Lucien’s taunts and twisted flirtations but seeing him near Aziraphale made his skin crawl. Lucien was stronger than he was and if he had not lost his temper and thrown him into the pool, Crowley would have likely left the party in an ambulance. Some people hated being friend-zoned, but Crowley loved it; there was no way Aziraphale could reject him or otherwise break his already tattered heart. Simply being friends was more than enough to have Crowley smiling. Perhaps he would feel differently if Aziraphale had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, but then surely seeing him happy would make Crowley happy. Only time would tell.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Newt approached him nervously, “Uhm, Uriel says the ropes are set.”

“Thanks,” Crowley acknowledged, suddenly feeling afraid, “Angel!”

Aziraphale turned around instantly.

“Time to get your wings out!”

Aziraphale looked slightly annoyed at the joke but he could not hide the smile as he walked towards him, “You don’t have to do this.”

Crowley pouted, “It’ll be fun… for someone.”

There was a redhaired girl in the front row with her phone pointed towards the stage, “Come on Tony!”

“Your sister I presume,” Aziraphale teasingly.

“Unfortunately,” Crowley sneered as they approached the stage, “Hey, Lily.”

“Fuck off and cry like a baby,” She laughed.

“Charming,” Aziraphale said bluntly while Crowley giggled, jumping up onto the stage where Uriel was waiting with two harnesses.

“The worst part is; she’s right,” Crowley whined.

“Then why are you smiling?” Aziraphale teased.

Uriel rolled her eyes, “Crowley’s got the easy job, you’re on a set rope and going in one direction. Fell, you going to be pulled up and then lowered back down. Not too hard, just stay calm and don’t mess with the harness.”

“Yay,” Crowley groaned, lacking in any enthusiasm. Suddenly missing the adrenaline his brain was no longer producing.

Uriel handed then two harnesses and Crowley reluctantly fastened it around his hips and looked nervously at the ladder he needed to climb only to fall.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, “You don’t have to do this.”

Crowley turned to smile at him, “Just promise you’ll catch me, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a little disjointed. I promise the next two chapters will be much nicer.


	7. Limelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's play.

Crowley walked to the drama studio nervously, the studio had an adjoining door to the stage in the auditorium and was being currently used as an extended backstage. He hovered at the door and took a deep breath before walking into the turbulent studio and was thankful that everyone was too busy and distracted to notice him.

“Hello,” Someone said nervously behind him.

Crowley turned to see Aziraphale standing behind him nervously, dressing in white with fluffy white wings and a halo above his head, “Hello angel.”

Aziraphale nervously looked him over, “I see you’ve made some changes to your costume.”

Crowley looked down, a silver serpentine belt was an elegant touch, but he knew the tights would be a surprise, “Too much?”

Aziraphale smiled, “You look perfect.”

Crowley wiggled his toes as Aziraphale blushed and walked off to make some last-minute adjustments.

“I love the scales,” Anathema said warmly walking up to him, she was dressed in the traditional blue and already waddling like she was actually pregnant rather than it just being a cushion strapped to her stomach.

Crowley looked at his tights, he had spent the night painting them to look like green, back and silver scales of a snake. He was proud of them and awfully nervous at the idea of going on stage in front of people he knew and speaking his lines with a sly confidence.

“How did you get it so uniform?” She asked, seemingly sensing his nervousness.

“Oh, um… well, I stuffed then and used some fish-net stockings over then to get the diamond pattern, the rest in just shading.”

“Well, it’s very effective,” She smiled, then looked away as half the drama studio stood and walked towards the stage door, “Come on.”

They walked towards Aziraphale who was standing beside the door and smiling nervously, “Right… um, hello. Uriel has told me that everyone has taken their seats and the curtain will rise in two minutes,” He fluttered a little and met Crowley’s yellow serpentine eyes, “You have all been perfect in rehearsals and I know that this performance will be splendid. Um… break a leg!”

Crowley frowned.

“It’s bad luck to wish someone luck,” Anathema whispered.

“Ah,” Crowley nodded, not understanding one bit, and walked up to Aziraphale, “I guess I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said restlessly, smiling excitedly through his nerves, “See you soon.”

Crowley grinned and followed Adam and Pepper through the door, dressed already in camouflage swimwear with extra foliage attached for effect. As they took their places at the bottom of the tree and got ready for the first act of the play, Crowley climbed his tree in the darkness. He had no role in the first scene, but there was no chance for him to climb the tree between scenes, so he would watch the audience from here as they watched the play unfold. The lights began to glow, and Crowley smiled as the curtain rose to reveal the daunting audience.

Pepper was pretending to brush her hair while Adam frowned, “What are you supposed to be?”

Pepper rolled her eyes very dramatically, “I’m a girl, you idiot.”

“What’s a girl?” Adam asked.

“She is your opposite,” Aziraphale said, appearing suddenly on the stage. Adam stood in surprise and Pepper giggled, “Her name is Eve and you will protect her.”

“But who will protect me?” Adam asked, “Why do I have to do all the work?”

Aziraphale smiled, “Because you are a _boy_, and boys protect the family. She will bear and raise your children.”

“What are children?” Adam asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Pepper replied nonchalantly, causing a few giggles from the audience.

Adam folded his arms across his chest, “What if I don’t want to?”

Aziraphale sighed, “Well I suppose humanity will die then.”

Adam frowned, “Can I bear children and Eve look after me?”

Pepper laughed and Aziraphale rubbed his face with his hands, “No, you can’t.”

“Why?” Pepper and Adam asked unison.

“Because,” Aziraphale began and frowned seemingly struggling for words, “Because God said so. And it is not for us to judge God.”

Adam and Pepper looked at each other sceptically and shrugged, “What does God want us to do?”

Aziraphale smiled, “You are to live here, in the Garden of Eden. You may go wherever you wish within the Garden and may eat any fruit or vegetable in the Garden, but – you _cannot_, under any circumstances, eat from that tree.”

Aziraphale pointed at the tree and ominous music started playing and Crowley dropped a sign which dangled in front of the trunk of the tree which read; ‘do not eat’. And so, the scene continued, Adam and Eve discovering the garden and getting into trouble until the lights faded to change the scene. When the lights came back, Pepper sat alone and Crowley adjusted himself, he slowly lowered a scaled leg beneath the thick canopy obscuring him from the audience and heard his friends distinctively wolf-whistling. Crowley tickled Pepper’s ear with his toe and snatched his foot back up when she turned around. Pepper settled and Crowley lowered himself from his branch, trying desperately to ignore Hastur and Dagon shouting lewd comments as Ligur continued whistling and Bee collapsed into a fit of giggles. Crowley slithered up beside Pepper, as best a guy in a dress and tights could, and smiled.

“Boo!” He shouted and Pepper screamed her head off, he had always timed it differently in every rehearsal so she could never know exactly when he would shout at her. Crowley grinned, “Relax, relax… I didn’t mean to ssssscare you.”

“What are you?” Pepper asked cautiously.

“I’m a ssssnake,” Crowley hissed, “And you looked ssso lonely.”

“Oh…” Pepper stammered, “None of the other animals talk.”

“I’m not like the other animalsssss,” Crowley hissed and pouted, and plucked an apple from the tree, “You look so pale and hungry… why don’t you have something to eat, Adam.”

“I’m Eve!” Pepper protested.

“I’m a ssssnake!” Crowley said defensively, “I can’t know everything,” He turned to the audience for the first time and stage-whispered, “But you can.”

He watched Bee being dragged from the front row by Mr Shadwell.

“We’re not supposed to eat that,” Pepper stated bluntly.

Crowley frowned, “It’s a fruit; they’re good for you!”

“We can eat fruit,” Pepper clarified, “Just not _that_ fruit.”

“Why not?” Crowley protested playfully. Pepper pointed at the sign on the tree and Crowley pouted, “Oh who put that there?”

Pepper pointed at the ceiling and Crowley found it sinfully ironic that actually he put the sign there because he was already hiding in the tree; he wondered what Ms Godwin would say if she knew of the secret blasphemies Aziraphale had inadvertently hidden within his play. He had wondered too if these were indeed accidental.

Crowley hissed at the insinuation of God watching them, and dragged his attention back to Pepper, “Why can you not eat thisss ssssscrumtiousss apple?”

“God said we would die,” Pepper said defiantly, arms crossed against her chest, “Although I don’t know what that means.”

“Absence of life,” Crowley muttered, “Anyway… you won’t _die_.”

“But God said…” Pepper protested feebly, “How can I trust you?”

Crowley smiled, “Only good things are allowed in the Garden. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could die!” Pepper reiterated.

Crowley sighed, “Not even a bite? I promise nothing bad will happen to you.”

Pepper reluctantly took the apple and took a fake bite. Her eyes widened, “Adam!”

Adam ran onto the stage, “Yes?”

“Try this!” Pepper said with a smile and Crowley sauntered off into the shadows, winking at the audience as Adam ate from the apple.

Aziraphale walked onto the stage this a sword that had pieces of translucent plastic in shades of orange, yellow and red taped to it to make it appear aflame, “Ahem!”

Adam threw the apple into the audience and stood wide-eyed as the angel frowned, daring to chew on occasion.

“What’s going on here?” Aziraphale asked skeptically, he looked at the tree and noticed an apple missing, “Did you eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.”

Pepper shook her head frantically while Adam murmured around the apparent food in his mouth, “No!”

Aziraphale squinted at them, “Are you sure?”

Adam swallowed and panicked, “She made me do it!”

Pepper gasped, and looked affronted, “Really?”

“You did!” Adam argued.

“I want a divorce,” Pepper retorted flatly.

“Do you remember what I told you about this tree?” Aziraphale asked pointedly, both Pepper and Adam looked at Aziraphale’s sword and stepped back. Aziraphale looked at his sword and frowned, “What _God_ told you?”

Pepper and Adam took another step back, looking increasingly terrified.

Aziraphale sighed, “Well you can’t stay here.”

Pepper ad Adam looked confused and then looked at each other. Aziraphale managed to roll his eyes with his whole body, “Off you go! You’ll have to survive on your own from now on and pray God forgives you.”

Adam and Pepper scrambled off the stage in their haste. Crowley struggled to calm himself as he stalked up to the angel, “A little harsh, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale jumped and swung the sword at the demon, missed, and threw the sword into the audience where Warlock caught it. Aziraphale looked at the warlock nervously and no longer seemed to know what to do with his hands, “What are you doing here serpent? And how are you talking?”

Crowley composed himself, “Why don’t you ask…?” He pointed at the ceiling nervously as if God would strike him down instantly.

Aziraphale frowned and looked at him closely then gasped, “Demon! Begone fiend!”

“Wow, rude,” Crowley pouted, with just a hint of seduction, “We’ve only just met.”

He loved that line, simply because it made Aziraphale blush slightly. Aziraphale recovered quickly and spoke his line with righteous defiance, “So you tempted them to eat the forbidden fruit?”

“How was I supposed to know the tree was forbidden?” Crowley said passively. Aziraphale pointed at the sign on the tree just as Pepper had, Crowley shrugged and looked away, “Do I look like I went to school?”

He could have sworn Ms Godwin was the loudest laugh in the audience and almost smiled. He turned back to Aziraphale, “Besides, what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway. Next time they’ll know I’ll be tempting them to evil rather than trusting me blindly.”

Aziraphale frowned, “It must be bad, otherwise you would not have tempted them.”

“True,” Crowley allowed, “I am a demon, but why place temptation within their reach to begin with. G-ugh… _they_ could have placed the tree anywhere.”

“It is not our place to question the Almighty, or their plan,” Aziraphale stated, “It’s ineffable.”

“Ineffable?” Crowley asked, cautiously taking a pocket dictionary out, “Too great to be expressed in words?”

“Well that is what ineffable means,” Aziraphale acknowledged, refusing to look at the demon.

Crowley tossed the dictionary to the side of the stage, “I know that!”

“God moves in mysterious ways,” Aziraphale continued, “We are not meant to understand, nor question.”

Crowley looked up, “They lie.”

Aziraphale gasped, “How dare you!”

Crowley shied away, “They said they would die, and I did not see you distributing divine justice.”

“God is all-knowing,” Aziraphale reasoned, “Everything happens for a reason.”

“Ugh!” Crowley retched, “That means I could have done the _right_ thing.”

Aziraphale looked at the audience nervously, “And I might have done the wrong thing...”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other with panic and concern, then laughed.

“Nah!” Crowley laughed dismissively, “You’re an angel you can’t do _wrong_.”

“Ridiculous,” Aziraphale agreed, “And you did tempt them into wrong.”

“Yep,” Crowley nodded, “Only time will tell.”

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley started scratching his head. And the lights faded. Crowley walked off stage and Pepper and Adam played out the next scene. Crowley was barely into the drama studio before he was literally bouncing with excitement, “This is so much fun! I am shaking with nerves and adrenaline!”

Aziraphale shut the door and laughed at Crowley’s excitement, “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Crowley calmed slightly, realising how embarrassing he was being, “Sorry about the whistling.”

Aziraphale dismissed him with a wave of his hand, “Don’t be silly! I’m glad they were enjoying it. Honestly, I was terrified that they’d hate it.”

“Never!” Crowley objected, “You need to stop doubting yourself.”

Aziraphale frowned but said nothing further, instead they sat down and waited for Aziraphale’s next seen. Before long the first act was over, and the intermission began.

“Ready?” Aziraphale asked as he sat down beside him.

“Always, angel,” Crowley smirked.

The second act was based on the nativity, Anathema played Mary and Newt was an awkward Joseph. Crowley watched from the sidelines during the first three scenes; Mary becoming pregnant, Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem, the choir of angels approaching the shepherds. Finally, the scene of the three kings came and Crowley strapped on his harness and walked onto the stage, glaring at the shining bright star at the top of his painted night sky. He stood there, comically judging it, before walking back off the stage only to return with a ladder. He climbed wobbly and for a moment his stomach dropped, but no one seemed to notice. He reached the star and pulled out an empty spray can and began trying to remove the star; which did not work. Uriel had some fun with the sound effects as Crowley grabbed a piece of fake board and pretended to hammer it over the star. Beneath him Brian, Wensleydale, and Warlock walked up to his ladder dressed in colourful finery.

“What are you doing?” Wensleydale asked loudly.

Crowley startled, dropping the foam board and pushed himself against the star, “Sorry?”

“You haven’t seen a star, have you?” Warlock asked, sounding awfully bored, “We are following a bright star to our Lord’s son on earth, but we seemed to have lost sight of it.”

“A star…” Crowley nodded awkwardly, “Yes, I too am looking for the star.”

“Can you see it from up there?” Brian asked.

Crowley looked about and snapped his fingers, a poorly made star dangled into view, “Ah! There it is. Off you go!”

The three kings began walking towards the star when the shepherds appeared with a disgruntled angel. Aziraphale looked at Crowley and sighed and turned to one of the shepherds who was holding a shepherd’s hook, “May I borrow that?”

This was the tricky bit; Crowley up a ladder and Aziraphale on the floor. They had agreed the Crowley was to clap if he did not wish to do the trick if he felt too afraid. Aziraphale hesitated and Crowley winked. Suddenly Aziraphale was pulled from the ground and just as he reached Crowley’s height, he hooked the shepherd’s hook around the back of his neck. Crowley his and grabbed the hook and in his attempt to break free of the angel, kicked the ladder. The children on the stage had markers and from his vantage point, Crowley could see if someone was out of alignment, the ladder itself hand two ropes attached to guide its route to the ground to ensure no one was hurt. The effect was perfect; there had been gasps as Aziraphale was lifted off the ground, but now both of them were hovering in the air, pretending to fight and Aziraphale pulled him down as their ropes dropped them down off the stage right.

Crowley shook and silently freaked out as they were helped out of their harnesses. Aziraphale grasped his shoulders, “Are you okay?”

Crowley clasped his hands over his face to stop him from laughing hysterically, and frantically nodded.

“Good,” Aziraphale smiled before walking back onto the stage in time for his line. Crowley walked into the drama studio and squealed as the adrenalin worked through his system. Before long Adam was pulling him to his feet.

“Come on!” He shouted excitedly, “You’ll miss the curtain call!”

Pepper and Adam were first, then Anathema and Newt. Then the shepherds, though minus Pepper and Adam of course, and the three kings. Then the extras, including John who played the donkey, and Sarah, Jacob, and Lucy who played innkeepers. Finally, Aziraphale and Crowley walked onto the stage, bowed and then the whole cast.

Crowley sighed with relief as the curtain fell and Aziraphale giggled, “One down, on to go.”

“What?!” Crowley choked staring at him.

Aziraphale fumbled nervously, “Oh, um… didn’t I mention? Well, the thing is… you can’t fit all the students and the parents in the auditorium at the same time… so… there are two performances.”

Crowley groaned and started laughing until his legs gave out and he fell to the floor.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked nervously, but Crowley just laughed harder.

After some time, Crowley was finally calm enough to breathe and wipe the tears from his eyes, “I hate you.”

Aziraphale looked distraught and Crowley slumped, “Not like that, angel. You’re just my sort of bastard. What parents?”

Aziraphale smiled slightly, “Usually we tell our parents about the performance, and they tend to turn up for the show.”

“Ah,” Crowley nodded, remembering his talk with his doctor around Halloween, “I just thought they were squeezed in the back somewhere.”

Aziraphale helped him to his feet, “Do you think your dad will come?”

“Well I didn’t tell him,” Crowley admitted, “But it’s just the sort of thing Lily would do.”

Two hours later and the set was ready again and Crowley was sat in his tree, watching Pepper and Adam saying their lines with experienced confidence. He knew he should not look, but he could see Harriet and Thaddeus awaiting Warlock to take the stage as Cain and a King. He saw his father, sat next to his evil sister who was filming the performance on her phone. The lights dimmed and Pepper was alone again. Crowley lowered his leg and was almost annoyed that no one wolf-whistled, although there were a few more laughs. Pepper snapped round and Crowley pulled his leg back and froze.

The tree had moved. It was not supposed to move like that. He shifted his weight to get down and the branch snapped. Crowley fell out of the tree and hit the stage hard, and Pepper screamed right on queue.

Aziraphale watched Crowley fall out of the tree with horror, he had not realised he was moving until Uriel grabbed him, “Look.”

“Ssssorry,” Crowley hissed sitting up, “I felt like dropping in.”

The audience laughed and Pepper looked nervously at Aziraphale who nodded.

“What are you?”

“I’m a sssssnake,” Crowley answered slithering to his feet, holding the apple in his hand ready to hand in over at the opportune moment given he could no longer pluck it from the tree, “And you looked ssssso lonely…”

“We’re back on script,” Uriel whispered and let go of Aziraphale’s arm.

Intermission could not come fast enough, Crowley insisted on continuing and between scenes there were few opportunities to protest. They said their final lines and the curtain began to fall when Aziraphale rushed to Crowley, holding him as if he were going to collapse, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine angel,” He said reassuringly, “Stop fussing.”

He guided him to the boys’ toilets just outside the drama studio and tried to look at his head, “Stop moving!”

“I said I’m fine!” Crowley insisted.

Someone entered behind Aziraphale and he barely noticed them until she spoke, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

The woman began inspecting his head and Aziraphale moved aside to give her some space, “You’re bleeding.”

“My hair is supposed to be that colour,” Crowley retorted with a grin, “Am I going to live?”

“Yes,” The woman replied and Aziraphale could see the resemblance to Warlock now, “I need you to take out your contacts.”

“Do I have to?” Crowley whined, “It took forever to get them straight.”

“Now,” She insisted.

“Where is he?” Aziraphale turned to find a middle-aged man with steel-grey hair and soft brown eyes walk into the toilets, “Oh, I thought you were fixing your make-up!”

Aziraphale saw Crowley stiffen as he concentrated on removing his contact lenses. Mrs Dowling frowned, “You must be Anthony’s father.”

“I didn’t realise this was a mixed bathroom,” Mr Crowley scoffed, “What are you doing here? Counseling precious drama-boys?”

Aziraphale saw Dr Dowling harden, “I am tending to my patient.”

“Patient?”

“I’m his doctor,” Dr Dowling stated flatly with a false smile, “And it would seem the fall from the tree was not scripted.”

“No,” Aziraphale said suddenly, “No it was an accident.”

“That’s what he gets for doing stupid things,” He sneered and left.

Aziraphale gazed at Crowley, watching the tears build in his beautiful amber eyes and his jaw tremble.

“Don’t listen to him,” Dr Dowling said warmly, “You were brilliant, particularly considering the knock to the head. I only knew something was wrong when this fine young man broke character a few seconds early and rushed to your side.”

Crowley rolled his eyes before doing as his doctor asked; following her finger as she looked for signs of concussion. Eventually, she stopped, “You seem fine to me.”

“We’re not doing the ladder,” Aziraphale added and Crowley gasped.

“What?!” Crowley protested.

Aziraphale frowned, “You might have a concussion! There is no way I’m letting you climb a ladder and be pulled back down on a rope. No.”

“But-”

“No!” Aziraphale insisted, “We have the back-up plan.”

Crowley pouted, “That was for if I got scared!”

“You have a head injury,” Aziraphale pointed out, “There is no way I’m letting you go up there. End of discussion.”

“Spoilsport!” Crowley yelled as Aziraphale walked out of the toilets. He turned to see Harriet smiling at him.

“He seems nice,” She said knowingly, and Crowley groaned.


	8. When The Curtain Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the play ends the acting stops. Crowley makes a move and he and Aziraphale begin to balance out their terrifyingly new dynamic as they come to terms with their attractions.
> 
> WARNING: Smut

The rest of the play went perfectly, even though Anathema had to hide the ladder and Uriel removed the harnesses to stop Crowley from attempting the stunt with the star. Their curtain call came and went and suddenly tired students were trying to escape doting parents. Crowley grabbed his stuff and was relieved to see his father leaving.

“How’s your head?” Crowley turned to see his younger sister standing behind him.

“Fine,” He shrugged, not entirely sure what to make of his sister’s concern.

She frowned slightly, “I think you were good. I usually hate watching these things, but you were good. Dad’s just… _dad_.”

“Yep,” Crowley allowed, acting indifferent but confused as to how much his father’s disdain stung; he should have been used to it by now, “Please tell me you got the fall on camera?”

Lily smiled, “Of course! Although there might be a small scream on the audio.”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow and Lily’s expression turned venomous, “What? I saw the play this afternoon and some of the rehearsals; I know that was an accident and it looked painful!”

“Aw!” Crowley teased, “I didn’t know you cared!”

“I don’t!” Lily insisted, but Crowley just grinned, “I hate you, Anthony.”

“Love you too, Lilith!” Crowley called after her.

“Lilith and Judas?” Aziraphale said quietly, Crowley had not seen him approach, “Your parents really do hate you.”

Crowley laughed a little, “You could say that. At least Judas is my middle name and Lilith can be shortened to Lily. Your mum here?”

Aziraphale looked a little nervous, “Yeah… she just left. I need a shower.”

“Same,” Crowley nodded and followed a blushing Aziraphale out of the drama studio. Most of the other students were using the changing rooms to get out of their costumes and wash their stage make-up off their skin, but Crowley was not at all surprised when Aziraphale headed for the door, grabbed his bag and slipped on his shoes and started walking toward St Edgar’s Dorm rooms. Crowley followed him inside, blinking against the harsh artificial lights before sitting down on the bench and peeling off his tights. After a moment he noticed Aziraphale was fidgeting and completely failing to get in the shower.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked gently.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” Aziraphale stammered, failing to make eye contact. He started fumbling with his things as if looking for something.

“You can’t really shower with your clothes on,” Crowley stood and looked him over, “I promise not to look.”

Aziraphale stopped and Crowley stepped closer to be sure he was still breathing and not having another panic attack. Aziraphale rubbed his face and turned around, startled to find Crowley standing so close, “Sorry.”

“For what?” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale smiled nervously and said nothing, shaking his head at some unspoken thought. Crowley took a step closer, “Are you sure you’re alright, angel?”

Aziraphale was nearly shaking and Crowley wondered if he was afraid of him. For a painful moment, Crowley doubted himself perhaps he had misinterpreted him, perhaps he was asexual, perhaps he was simply nice, perhaps Crowley was just blinded by his own desires. Then Aziraphale met his gaze and smiled, his cheeks flushed slightly, and his blue-green eyes sparkled. Crowley swiftly cupped his jaw and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Crowley had rarely kissed so chastely, often skipping to snogging and a quickie in the toilets, but everything about Aziraphale was different and he wanted to do this right. He kept the kiss innocent and slowly moved away to see Aziraphale standing his eyes closed and a gentle smile on his lips. His eyes fluttered open and smiled brighter. Crowley rushed back to him, kissing him wantonly, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. He felt Aziraphale run his fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Crowley slowed and placed delicate kisses on Aziraphale’s face and neck, smiling as Aziraphale groaned and stretched to offer him more skin.

“Crowley…” He gasped breathlessly, tugging at his hair.

“Mhm?” Crowley moaned pushing against him gently.

“I need to shower,” He muttered shyly.

Crowley pulled back, he could see Aziraphale was bashful and uncertain, but saw no hints of displeasure or alarm, “Take off your clothes then.”

Aziraphale looked a little panicked at that but blushed, “Only if you take off yours.”

Crowley damn near ripped his robe in his haste and stood before Aziraphale in nothing but his pants, smirking, “Come on then.”

Aziraphale laughed and pulled his own robe over his head and stood there awkwardly in his boxers and undershirt, wrapping his arms protectively around his body.

“Why do you always wear so many clothes?” Crowley teased, stepping closer and kissing Aziraphale’s neck, running his fingers over Aziraphale’s soft skin. He felt Aziraphale shudder and tense slightly, “If you don’t want to… just tell me.”

Aziraphale smiled bashfully and kissed him lightly, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“We’re taking a shower,” Crowley said smirking, he pulled Aziraphale into the cubicle, switched on the water to heat up and pushed Aziraphale against the door out of the stream of icy water. He pulled Aziraphale’s undershirt over his head and tossed it over the door to the bench and ran his hands over Aziraphale’s skin, “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Aziraphale stood there reluctant and timid, fully aware of the ways his stomach bulged and the pink and purple stretch marks that scarred his body, “No I’m not.”

Crowley stopped, fearing he had overstepped, knowing all too well that Aziraphale shut down if you pushed him too far, but he needed to know what Crowley saw, “Angel, look at me. You’re beautiful. Anyone who tells you differently is blind.”

Aziraphale giggled, “Or perhaps you’re the one who is blind?”

Crowley returned to Aziraphale’s lips as the shower began to steam, “Then I don’t want to see the light of day.”

Aziraphale moaned, allowing himself to relax. He had seen people kissing in films and witnessed a few secretive kisses shared by classmates in the shadows, but Aziraphale had never kissed anyone and had never imagined it could feel so devilishly good. Crowley pushed closer, gently biting Aziraphale’s neck and he groaned a little loud and blushed in embarrassment as Crowley chuckled.

“Relax, angel,” He whispered gently, nipping at Aziraphale’s ear, “You’re supposed to enjoy this.”

Aziraphale had not realised he was so hard and found himself rather at a loss as to what to do; Gabriel would sneer at him and leave him to soften in fear and shame. He was pushing Gabriel from his mind when Crowley blissfully distracted him by tugging at his boxers.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley smiled sinfully, “Water’s warm, I think it’s time we got rid of _all_ our clothes.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, instinct and experience had taught him to be ashamed of his body and his bodily reactions.

Crowley softened, “Oh, right. Me first.”

Crowley stepped back into the hot steam, water drenching his shoulder-length hair and cascading down his chest as he pulled down his pants. Aziraphale nearly collapsed, he never seen another man naked and everything about Crowley was perfect and made his heart flutter, and for a moment Aziraphale forgot himself. He closed the distance between them and crashed against Crowley beneath the scorching water. Crowley was smiling and meeting every kiss Aziraphale gave to him. Crowley caressed him and guided Aziraphale’s hand to his groin and shuddered. Aziraphale clumsily wrapped his fingers around Crowley and stroked him lazily.

“Angel,” Crowley groaned, “You’re still wearing your pants.”

Aziraphale stilled and swallowed his fear and pulled down his soaking boxers and stepped out of them. Suddenly, Crowley pushed him to the side of the cubicle and claimed his mouth hungrily before dropping to his knees and kissing Aziraphale’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale stammered, feeling terribly exposed and self-conscious as he stood naked and aroused in the steaming shower.

“Relax, angel,” Crowley purred, his pale brown eyes seemed almost chocolatey with the dilation of his pupils, “I’ll take care of you.”

Aziraphale frowned and gasped as Crowley kissed his penis, rubbing his face against his groin before taking him into his mouth. He clung to the top of the plastic cubicle, desperately trying to stop himself from falling as his knees threatened to collapse. Crowley moved painfully slowly as he took in his length and then sucked firmly as he pulled away causing Aziraphale to moan loudly. Crowley did this a few times, coaxing Aziraphale gently before hastening his pace.

“Ah!” Aziraphale cried out and then slapped a hand over his mouth in horror, he looked down to see Crowley grinning at him with delightful surprise.

“Careful, angel,” He hushed, breathing heavily, “You might wake someone.”

“It’s a little hard when you’re… doing that,” Aziraphale stammered, trying to calm himself, but Crowley pushed his mouth around Aziraphale’s cock again and all thought and language vanished from his mind.

Crowley worked leisurely, grasping Aziraphale’s fleshly hips and caressing his legs as he pulled delightful gasps and moans from the boy. He worked his idle tongue as he sucked the shower water and pre-cum from his soft flesh. He was so close himself; he could feel pre-cum oozing from his dick as he knelt on the hard floor desperately consuming Aziraphale. He felt Aziraphale shudder, grasping at Crowley’s wet hair desperately as a strangled cry fought its way out of his mouth. Crowley doubled his efforts and felt Aziraphale pull his hair painfully as he came into Crowley’s mouth with a cry. Crowley drank his release, holding Aziraphale as still as he could as he bucked and squirmed through his orgasm. He lowered his hand but after a couple of strokes, he was spilling himself over Aziraphale’s feet. They remained there, panting as they came down from their orgasms, barely noticing the hot water raining down on them. Aziraphale released his grip on Crowley’s hair and Crowley fell forward to lick his mess from Aziraphale’s feet. The blond laughed and nearly kicked Crowley in the nose.

“Sorry!” He giggled, “That tickles.”

Crowley got to his feet slowly and smiled lazily, pulling Aziraphale into a hug, “Good thing I don’t have much of a foot-fetish then.”

They laughed, breathing deeply as they calmed their beating hearts. Crowley pulled Aziraphale back into the stream of hot water, caressing and kissing him as they washed each other. Aziraphale noticed sadly that the redhead had pale white scars in parallel lines along the insides of his wrists.

Crowley caught him staring and smiled, “Old battle scars, angel.”

Eventually, they switched off the water and stood in the cubicle dripping and unsure as to what to say.

“I think we should leave separately,” Crowley said quietly, “Get dried and dressed and I’ll see you in a minute.”

Aziraphale nodded, it made sense. He unlocked the door and stepped out of the cubicle quickly and retrieved his towel from his bag.

“Oh, and angel?” Crowley whispered, “Leave the towel, I forgot mine.”

Aziraphale smiled and pulled his robe back over his head, leaving the towel for Crowley and walking out of the shower room feeling awfully exposed having no clean or dry underwear. He entered their room, switching on his desk lamp and pulled the curtains closed, then sighed as he wrestled with his thoughts; what was he doing? What were _they_ doing? Were they going to talk about it? Did he want to talk about it? Was this a one-off? Were they a couple now?

In the end, he shook off the headache and disrobed, pulling on his tartan pyjamas. He had not noticed Crowley enter until his arms were wrapped around his belly and he was kissing his cheek. Crowley pulled away, pulling his desk in front of the door slightly before stripping off his own robe and pulling on a pair of black boxers and a t-shirt. Aziraphale watched him meekly and smiled as he collapsed into his bed. Aziraphale turned to pick up his book.

“Not coming to bed?” Crowley asked softly and Aziraphale nearly dropped his beloved _The Picture of Dorian Grey. _He turned slowly to find Crowley leaning on his elbows smiling at him, “You can bring Dorian.”

Aziraphale chuckled and switched off the light. The last Crowley saw of him, he was turning back towards his own bed, his heart was pounding with unease as he waited to see what Aziraphale would do before he finally felt Aziraphale crawl into the narrow bed beside him, “There’s not a lot of space.”

Crowley frowned and repositioned himself so that his damp head was over Aziraphale heart and his arms wrapped around him protectively, “Nonsense, we’ll just have to snuggle.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed his wet hair, “Goodnight.”

“Night, angel.”

*** * ***

Crowley woke groggily and found his bed disappointingly empty, he looked up and flushed with anger, “What the fuck are you looking at Harper?!”

Gabriel jumped and pulled his head back from where he was peaking into the room as Crowley leapt out of his bed and charged at him.

Gabriel was half-way down the corridor when Crowley crashed into the dormitory corridor, he shook his head and walked back into his room, half asleep and not yet thinking straight. Once his brain had caught up with being awake, he found himself torn between wondering what Gabriel Harper was doing in their room and wondering where Aziraphale was. On the positive side; Aziraphale had clearly not slept in his bed as _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ was still on his pillow beside his bag from last night. On the negative side; he was not in the room.

Crowley glanced at his phone only to find the battery was dead, so he picked up Aziraphale’s which read 6:02. He groaned and crawled back into his bed. He was nearly asleep again having decided not to worry about Aziraphale when he heard someone at the door.

“I swear to Satan, Harper if that’s you-” He stopped as Aziraphale walked in, holding a Tupperware box and looking terribly bemused.

“Harper?” He asked innocently.

“Yeah,” Crowley sighed, “Woke up to find Gabriel Fucking Harper poking his nose in. Good thing you weren’t in bed.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, “Well you had blocked the door with your desk.”

Suddenly Aziraphale seemed to hear his own words and placed the box on the desk and moved the desk an inch to block the door again.

“What’s in the box?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale walked towards him.

Aziraphale smiled, “Breakfast.”

Crowley smiled broadly, “Breakfast in bed? You certainly know how to spoil a boy.”

Aziraphale smiled and sat on the bed beside Crowley, opening the box to reveal fresh, warm pastries. Crowley grabbed a cinnamon roll and bit into it.

“Good?” Aziraphale asked quietly and when Crowley nodded gave him a shy smile. He prodded a _pain au chocolate_, but found it was still too hot.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked suddenly, leaning against the wall.

“Wrong?” Aziraphale spluttered, failing to meet Crowley’s pale brown eyes.

“You bake when you’re nervous, angel,” Crowley clarified, “Especially at six in the morning.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aziraphale insisted, not entirely convincingly.

“Is it about last night?” Crowley asked gently, his heart was pounding in his chest as he watched Aziraphale fumble with the box and avoid his gaze, “Angel?”

Aziraphale took a shaky breath and set the box of baked food aside, “I’m just… rather new to all this.”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Crowley said softly, he wanted to touch him so badly, but clearly Aziraphale needed to have this talk, even if he would not instigate the conversation.

Aziraphale’s ocean-blue eyes suddenly looked up at him, “What are we?”

Crowley tried not to laugh at Aziraphale’s direct approach, it was often best not to dance around the subject but something about his abruptness was delightfully entertaining. He had not thought of labelling them only that he loved Aziraphale and wanted to show him how much he was loved, “Suggest a few labels and I’ll tell you if it sounds right.”

Aziraphale looked away and frowned, “I mean… was this a… a one-night-stand?”

“God, I hope not,” Crowley chuckled instantly, his heart drumming painfully at the thought.

Aziraphale smiled bashfully, “Okay, good, um… what’s the phrase, um, ‘friends with benefits’?”

Crowley stilled, growing quite nervous that perhaps Aziraphale did not feel as strongly as he did, “Do you want to remain just friends?”

Aziraphale looked up at him hopelessly with a tender smile, “I think it might be a little late for that.”

Crowley sighed with relief and smiled, “Yeah…”

“It’s just… well, if I’m perfectly honest, I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” Aziraphale stammered quietly, feeling a tightness in his chest like another panic attack, but when Crowley laced his fingers between his own, he breathed easier.

He turned to see Crowley grinning at him, “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”

Truth be told, if Aziraphale had asked Crowley to marry him, Crowley would have dragged them to the nearest registry office, but Aziraphale needed to ask and Crowley needed to show him how much he cared. Crowley could have labelled their relationship, but he would have always wondered if Aziraphale felt the same or if he was just timidly agreeing. Aziraphale beamed brightly at Crowley with unburdened joy and nodded, “I’d like that.”

Crowley leaned forward and kissed him sweetly, keeping it innocent until he felt Aziraphale’s tongue taste him. He moaned and pulled Aziraphale into his arms, holding him close, “This’ll teach me to skip class.”

Aziraphale giggled, “You wouldn’t have noticed me.”

Crowley frowned, “Like hell, I wouldn’t!”

“I’m sure you’ve had lots of boyfriends,” Aziraphale murmured, caving in on himself as Crowley tightened his hold on him.

“In a Catholic boarding school? Not many,” Crowley allowed, “And when I say I’ve had a few boyfriends or girlfriends, I really mean… _regulars_.”

Aziraphale looked up at him perplexed.

Crowley laughed it off, “I’m seventeen; just because I’m pansexual does not mean I have tons of experience. I’ve slept with five people in three years, and every one of them was different. I know people who have a new lover every fortnight, but it's always new. Not all experience is good wither; Lucien was my first and that did not go well… oh yeah, you don’t remember that do you?”

“I remember,” Aziraphale admitted, “I just assumed… well, not all straight boys fancy every girl they see, and _I_ certainly don’t like _all_ boys…”

“You thought I didn’t fancy you?” Crowley chuckled, “God, my friends have been teasing me for months because I’m smitten.”

Aziraphale giggled and nestled closer to him, “I’ve never, um…”

“Like I said earlier, angel,” Crowley hushed, “Everyone starts somewhere.”


	9. Happy Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School breaks up for the Christmas holidays and Aziraphale and Crowley are struggling with the separation, so Crowley asks Aziraphale out on a date.
> 
> This chapter got very long, so the second half of their date will be in Chapter 10 (hopefully it will be finished tomorrow).

The phone was ringing and Aziraphale scrambled across the room to pick it up, “Hello?”

“Morning, angel,” Crowley said on the other end, Aziraphale could almost hear his smile, “How’s the family?”

“My mother’s well,” Aziraphale permitted, “And my cat is as indifferent as ever. Yours?”

There was a shuffling sound and the distinctive sound of a door opening, Aziraphale could people shouting, “Mum came by to drop off presents for me and Lily… they’ve been screaming at each other for an hour.”

Aziraphale grimaced, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Crowley chuckled, “Meh! We’re used to it.”

“It’s not something you should get used to, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, “How’s your sister?”

“No idea,” Crowley admitted, “All I can hear is shitty pop music.”

“Poop music,” Aziraphale murmured and all he could hear was Crowley laughing his head off on the other end of the line, “Are you alright?”

“Yep,” Crowley wheezed some moments later, “I need to use that one.”

“Any plans for the holidays?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not really,” Crowley murmured, Aziraphale felt like he had something more to say and waited, “Hey, um… I was thinking, um, are you free this weekend?”

Aziraphale smiled, “Perhaps… what did you have in mind?”

There was a pause and Aziraphale could not tell if he was trying to come with a suggestion or summoning courage to ask something, “I was just thinking we could go somewhere… a day out in London perhaps?”

“Sounds good,” Aziraphale tried to sound casual even though his heart was threatening to break his ribs, “Did you have anything particular in mind?”

Another pause, “Well, there’s a new exhibit at the Tate Modern I’d like to see and perhaps dinner at a nice restaurant that I heard about somewhere on the internet…”

“Sounds wonderful!” Aziraphale said giddily.

“Great!” Crowley replied enthusiastically, “So… Saturday? 11 am? Paddington?”

“I’ll see you Saturday,” Aziraphale confirmed.

“I miss you,” Crowley whispered.

“I miss you too,” Aziraphale sighed, they’d only been home a day and already calling and texting each other all the time. They had started texting each other almost as soon as their parents had driven out the school gates, and yesterday evening they had talked for 3 hours about dolphins because Crowley saw something on the telly. Aziraphale sighed, terrified and excited at the same time, listening to Crowley breathing on the other end of the phone and wondering if he felt the same, “Talk later?”

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed softly, “Talk to you later, angel.”

Aziraphale hesitated before ending the call and hurried to his desk to mark their date on his calendar and stopped. What would he write? He couldn’t very well write ‘date’ in the space for Saturday but simply writing ‘London’ felt too insignificant. In the end, he wrote ‘Tate with a friend’ and made his way out of his room and down the stairs. His mother, as he expected, was somehow simultaneously cleaning and baking, “Hello.”

“Oh, hello sweetie,” She said cheerily, always sounding so caring but also as rehearsed as a 1950s commercial for laundry powder, “Did I hear you talking to someone on the phone?”

Aziraphale was glad his mother was not looking at him to see him still with fear, “Um, yes. Just a friend at school.”

“Oh, that’s nice dear,” She said in the same chirpy voice.

“Actually…” Aziraphale added carefully, “I was wondering if I might go to London this Saturday?”

“Oh?” She asked nonchalantly.

“Yeah,” Aziraphale shrugged, trying to make it sound like a trip to London was not the most important thing in his life, “Just some time to hang out, outside of school and studying.”

“How is your essay coming along?” She asked, still ignoring the question as she attempted to clean a worktop that was already clean, “That one about the king?”

_Which King, Henry VII or Henry VIII?_ Aziraphale thought bitterly, he knew his mother loved him but her inability to actually pay attention to anything he accomplished still stung from time to time, “Actually, my friend wanted some help with that which is why he called. I just thought it would be nice to see him out of school.”

His mother finally turned to face him, “Well, I don’t see why not, you are sixteen after all. I can’t keep you forever. Just promise you’ll visit when you’re off at university.”

Aziraphale smiled and avoided responding. His mother still thought he would be applying for Oxford University, he had set his heart of St Andrews a few years ago but had never found the heart to tell her. He watched her check on the apple pie in the oven and then returned to cleaning. He walked into the living room, like the rest of the house it was pristine, white, sparsely decorated, and emotionally cold. He had often wondered if his desires to be surrounded by clutter, books, and colour stemmed from some form of rebellion at his own mother’s idea of decorating. Even their cat was white, quiet, and well behaved, never permitted on the table or in the kitchen.

“What about you, Raphael?” Aziraphale murmured as he picked up the fluffy white mess of a cat, “Do you think I can go to London to see Crowley?”

The cat looked at him blankly and then wriggled out of his arms, he watched his cat look back up at him and start purring as he weaved his way around Aziraphale’s ankles, “Fine, I’ll give you more food,” He sighed, “But I know mother has already fed you this morning.”

* * *

Saturday could not come fast enough, and Crowley found himself awake before his alarm. He laughed at his own ridiculous giddiness as he showered and dressed. He had decided to keep it smart and casual; skinny black jeans, red canvas shoes, red shirt, and a black waistcoat. He checked himself in the mirror before grabbing his bag, wallet, phone, and jacket, before finally leaving his room and walking down to the dining room where his sister was texting as their dad attempted to make breakfast in the kitchen.

“Ew!” Lily sneered when she finally looked up from her phone, “You’re smiling!”

“Fuck off,” Crowley hissed back, frustrated at his own complete inability to hide his emotions.

“Language!” Their father yelled from the kitchen, over the sound of whatever he was frying on the stove.

“It’s just breakfast,” Lily teased, “I think your pills are too strong.”

“What pills?” Their father yelled, clearly listening to them closely, “I swear to God Tony, if you’re taking drugs, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’m just teasing dad!” Lily yelled with a pained look of apology. She had seen him taking them one morning and although she teased him, she was worried about him; she knew better than most about the state of his mental wellbeing having found him bleeding out in the bathtub nearly a year ago. Unfortunately, their father was of the opinion that boys should not be emotional and ‘grow up’ rather than seek professional help and anti-depressants and would most likely flush his pills down the toilet. Lily may hate her brother, but he was still her brother and she did not relish the idea of finding his body.

Crowley clenched his jaw and slipped her a twenty-pound note.

“What’s this for?” She whispered, tucking the note into her jeans.

“I need you to cover for me,” Crowley muttered, “I’m going out for the day. I’ll be back late.”

“Where are you going?” Lily asked quietly, checking to make sure their dad was not listening in.

Crowley shook his head, “Can’t risk it, but…” He gave her another note, “It’ll be worth it. Forty now, sixty when I come back and know dad doesn’t suspect anything.”

“What are you doing?” Lily asked, not taking the money, “I need to know the severity of your offence for a decent cover story.”

Crowley leaned back and considered his options, eventually, he realised he needed her, “Fine. It’s not bad, I promise… I have a date.”

Lily frowned and chuckled, “Why would dad care if you went on a date?”

“With a _boy_,” Crowley stressed, barely audible.

Lily’s face fell and suddenly all humour was gone, she took the money instantly and smiled, “Have fun.”

Crowley mouthed a silent _thank you_ and left before their dad got out of the kitchen with the oily heart attack, he considered to be a suitable breakfast. He took a bus to Reading station and waited on the platform for his train to arrive, listening to his music and not paying any attention to the announcements which were informing him of the bad weather forecast for later that day and the delays this was already creating. He eventually looked up at the noticeboard to see that the train to Paddington which should have arrived five minutes ago was delayed by another twenty minutes.

“Fuck!” Crowley cursed and storming into the platform coffee shop and ordered a black coffee to warm his hands. When he got out of the claustrophobic shop the train was delayed by an estimated thirty minutes. He groaned and took out his phone, texting Aziraphale about the delay.

Moments later his phone buzzed, and he opened the response; _I know. Not even at Reading yet. I’ll see you soon x_

Crowley grinned and took off his headphones to listen to the announcement regarding his train’s delay: “The 10:24 to London Paddington, is delayed by 34 minutes. Calling at Slough and London Paddington. This is the Great Western Railway service from Oxford. This train is formed of eight coaches. First Class is at the rear.”

Crowley laughed to himself and began typing; _Which coach are you in? I’ll see you in 34 minutes xx_

Buzz buzz; _Why would it matter which coach I’m in? B which is the 4th for some reason. 34 minutes is a little specific, but I’ll see you when I get there xx_

Crowley smiled and drank his coffee waiting in the bitter December air for his train to arrive. Another two trains to Paddington arrived at different platforms but they came from Swansea and Penzance, so he remained on the platform while most of the other London commuters ran for the other platforms. In the end, the train was forty minutes late and Crowley looked for Coach B. Aziraphale was not hard to spot, a brilliant blond and lost in a book. Crowley smirked as he sat in the empty seat beside him and watched him read for a few moments before kissing him gently on the cheek. Aziraphale panicked and then smiled, “Crowley, you scared me!”

“Do strange men often kiss you without permission?” Crowley teased, but there was a flicker of something he did not like in Aziraphale’s ocean-blue eyes, but it was gone before he could determine what Aziraphale had been thinking.

“No, of course not,” Aziraphale muttered, setting his book aside, “I was just surprised. You live in Reading then?”

The train began moving again, “Yep, near Cemetery Junction…. Not that you know where that is.”

“You probably don’t know where I live either,” Aziraphale murmured, “I’d quite like to live in London actually, but my mother won’t approve.”

“Too many gay bars?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale looked flustered, “Um, no… she’s a little, protective. Anything out of Oxfordshire is too far for her.”

“How’s she going to cope with you going to Scotland then?” Crowley chuckled and frowned when he saw Aziraphale’s worried expression, “You haven’t told her.”

Aziraphale shook his head slightly, “Miss Loquacious-Hodges told her that I was _destined_ for Oxford, and she can’t see why I would want to go anywhere else.”

“Ah,” Crowley groaned, “Slightly problematic. Got over a year though.”

“To change my mind?” Aziraphale murmured hopelessly. He knew it was stupid to plan too far ahead, but some romantic part of him wanted Crowley to persuade him to stay, even if just to stay together.

“No!” Crowley nudged him with a smile, “To tell your mother where you want to go and what you want to study. If she loves you, she’ll be happy for you.”

“People say that about coming out to their parents too,” Aziraphale retorted quietly, feeling evermore alarmed and worried.

“Coming out is different,” Crowley whispered in a more serious tone, “Your mum sounds rather conservative; educational success is still highly valued, but… _that_ will test her faith and her understanding of ‘acceptable behaviour’. St Andrew’s is a very good university, a little far perhaps. Might want to suggest Stanford or Harvard just to watch her squirm! At least it’s a different university and not deciding to go backpacking across Asia… or coming out of the proverbial closet.”

Aziraphale gave him a small smile, “Yes, I suppose it is different. And I won’t have to hide so much, not that I’m…”

“I hear going to Uni can help some people accept themselves better,” Crowley allowed, “You don’t have to ‘come out’, but be a little happier with yourself.”

“What about you?” Aziraphale asked, sadly remembering the pale white scars on Crowley’s wrists, “I mean your _happiness_, you seem quite comfortable with your… sexuality.”

Crowley grasped his hand and felt Aziraphale flinch at the public sign of affection, but he just as quickly relaxed as they interlocked their fingers, “I’ll get there, maybe the sea air will help.”

“Sea air?”

“Yeah,” Crowley chuckled and kissed Aziraphale’s cheek again, “St Andrew’s is by the sea isn’t it?”

Aziraphale’s chest tightened and he could almost feel the joy igniting his bones, and his smile came unhindered, “Yes, yes, it is.”

“What are you so happy about?” Crowley teased, squeezing his hand gently.

“I just…” Aziraphale stammered, blushing, “I had not realised you were planning on following me. I was almost hoping you’d try to convince me to stay.”

Crowley shrugged, “We could stay in Oxfordshire if you’d prefer? You’d have to come out to your mother eventually though.”

A little panic crept back into Aziraphale’s eyes, “Oh?”

Crowley smiled, pulled him into a proper kiss, “Because I doubt that I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.”

Aziraphale chuckled and returned his kiss gently, “Fair point. School’s going to be a little hard though.”

“Mhm,” Crowley moaned before leaning back in his seat as the train pulled into Slough, “Poor choice of words, but I see your point. I’ll try not to be too clingy.”

Aziraphale smiled and held his hand, thinking was always a weakness of his, “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Crowley asked, clearly perplexed behind his dark sunglasses.

Aziraphale wriggled uncomfortably, “About… _me_.”

Crowley smiled and Aziraphale felt more fear, “Truth be told; I didn’t want to make a move,” Aziraphale slumped slightly and avoided his gaze, “I didn’t know if you liked boys, or if you liked _me_, and… I didn’t want you to hurt me.”

“So why did you kiss me?” Aziraphale asked meekly with a shy smile.

Crowley seemed to struggle to find an answer; he was mostly struggling with the dilemma of confessing his love before even getting to their date, and Aziraphale began questioning everything again, “Oh don’t look so worried, angel… I kissed you, because… because I have no self-control.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Yes because I am _utterly_ irresistible.”

Crowley scowled at his sarcasm and sucked his teeth, “I have a sketchbook full of drawings of you. Which sounds a lot more stalker than I intended, but… I’ve been sketching you for months. My friends have been taunting me about you since the morning after we met. You managed to drag me to most of my classes last term and got me on stage in tights.”

“Not that you’re a stranger to tights,” Aziraphale teased, remembering Halloween before he nearly drowned, “And you only managed to get to sixty to seventy per cent of your classes.”

“Ms Godwin thought It would be a miracle to get me to attend one class a day,” Crowley laughed, “Because of you, I’ve attended at _least_ one class a day.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and smiled, “That’s true. Perhaps I am an angel.”

“Obviously,” Crowley grinned, he looked up and Aziraphale followed his gaze to see they were already pulling into Paddington Station, “Lunch first? I skipped breakfast.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Aziraphale teased as he checked his satchel which seemed to contain a book, a wallet, and an umbrella.

“My dad’s idea of cooking is drowning meat in oil and frying it until it’s black and the fire alarm goes off,” Crowley retorted, “What about you?”

Aziraphale scowled, “Fruit salad and Greek yoghurt.”

“Good. Can’t have you wasting away,” Crowley smiled, giving Aziraphale another delicate kiss before rising to his feet, “So where are we going for lunch?”

“I’m not wasting away, Crowley,” Aziraphale retorted, letting go of Crowley’s hand and missing its warmth, though holding hands in a discrete corner of a train was very different to holding hands through a busy London station, “Well, there’s a nice place near Piccadilly Circus.”

“Sounds good,” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale rose and followed Crowley off the train and towards the ticket gates and underground, “Of course, I’m paying.”

“Um, no,” Crowley protested, “I asked you out remember?”

Aziraphale smiled, “I do believe you said the Tate and dinner, therefore lunch is on me.”

Crowley begrudgingly agreed and followed Aziraphale onto the Bakerloo Line to Piccadilly Circus and through the bustling streets of London. Crowley always loved the noise and the chaos of the capital and was lost in the mayhem when Aziraphale grabbed his arm when he missed their turning through an arch in the Georgian crescent. Aziraphale slowed slightly, “You don’t have any food allergies, do you?”

Crowley pouted and shook his head.

Aziraphale slowed to a complete stop, “Do you like fish?”

“I’m not fussy, angel,” Crowley said reassuringly, he noticed Aziraphale was looking over his shoulder and turned toward the restaurant behind him, “Bentley’s Oyster Bar?”

“We can go somewhere else if you prefer?” Aziraphale offered meekly.

“Nonsense!” Crowley retorted happily, backing towards the restaurant, “Of course you do know oysters are aphrodisiacs, don’t you?”

Aziraphale watched him walk into the restaurant and hesitated, “I forgot.”

It was a pricey restaurant and Crowley ate his food with a guilty conscience, but Aziraphale kept assuring him that money was not a problem, he was suddenly doubting his own plans for their evening; a free art gallery and pouring his summer savings into paying off his sister and a restaurant that was nowhere near as posh. He had considered a different restaurant, but thirty pounds for a two-course meal seemed a lot.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked as they walked from Blackfriars Station towards the Tate Modern art gallery, “You seem agitated.”

“Sorry, angel,” Crowley bit his lip, “I’ve um… not actually gone on a date before.”

Aziraphale stopped and stared at him with pleasant surprise, “Now I know you’re lying.”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, and not entirely due to the cold, “I… I go clubbing and hook up with someone while drunk or have a secret fling with a barista or something. Sometimes we’d text and we’d arrange a rendezvous. But… never tried the dating thing.”

Aziraphale smiled, “Well, that makes two of us. Come on, I want to see this exhibit.”

Crowley led him through the art gallery, paying particular attention to anything that took Aziraphale’s interest. He spotted him scowling at a rather overtly abstract sculpture and slowly approached him, “Do you like it?”

Aziraphale tilted his head, “Not particularly, I’m afraid… I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.”

Crowley looked at it, unable to identify all the materials entangled in a heap on the podium, “Neither do I. I like impressionist stuff and some abstract things, but if it makes your head hurt; it’s not art.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Everyone is different, I prefer your paintings.”

“Stop!” Crowley whined playfully, “You’ll make me blush.”

Eventually, they came to a pair of double doors and a sign reading; _Leonid Afremov 1955-2019_.

“Here we are,” Crowley said gleefully. Aziraphale followed him inside and was awestruck by the vibrantly colourfully paintings inside. They were so delightfully different to Crowley’s own works, full of colour and light, and yet Crowley’s face lit up as he stared longingly at every single one, removing his sunglasses to fully appreciate the colours surrounding him. Aziraphale found himself looking at Crowley more than the art.

“What do you think?” Crowley asked softly, not taking his eyes off the painting of an empty autumn avenue, with golden trees and rain soak pavement.

“I think it’s breath-taking,” Aziraphale answered barely glancing at the painting that had Crowley bewitched. Crowley turned to meet his gaze and smiled bashfully as he realised Aziraphale was staring at him.

Aziraphale looked at the artwork, “It’s very different to your own art but just as beautiful.”

“Mine’s depressing,” Crowley huffed, “This… this is hopeful.”

“Art is usually honest,” Aziraphale sighed.

“I worry about the guy who made that sculpture,” Crowley joked, and they laughed quietly. Aziraphale gave a quick look around and cupped Crowley’s jaw and placed a delicate kiss on his lips. They kissed for a few moments before footsteps in the exhibit caused them to part, but not too far. They strolled out of the Tate only to find white snow falling from the heavy clouds above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonid Afremov is an artist I love, but has never been showcased at the Tate Modern (as far as I'm aware). For a colourblind individual, I love the vibrance, the light, and the dark loneliness I see in his paintings. Please check out his art, I love it.
> 
> I live in Reading and always travel by train... plus Crowley can't drive yet being barely 17.


	10. A Wonderful White Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of Crowley and Aziraphale's date in London.
> 
> Warning: Smut (18+ adult content)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, been bogged down with work and then my internet went on the blink. Please enjoy.

“Oh, wow!” Aziraphale beamed, failing to catch snowflakes with gloved hands. Crowley took out his phone and took a quick photo, “What was that for?”

“Cameras were invented to capture beauty,” Crowley muttered, trying desperately not to laugh as Aziraphale tried not to spontaneously combust from embarrassment, “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”

“Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked happily.

Crowley stopped, _affordable or romantic?_ “Not sure yet, I’m torn between two different restaurants. You choose; _Clos Maggiore_ or _Le Mercury_?”

Aziraphale pondered this, “They both sound French.”

“Correct,” Crowley allowed.

“What’s the dilemma?” Aziraphale asked, “Is one closer?”

“Uh, _Clos Maggiore_ is closest,” Crowley answered restlessly.

Aziraphale softened, “Is it money? You were rather worried over lunch.”

Crowley ground his teeth, and nodded, “_Le Mercury_ is a lot cheaper than _Clos Maggiore_.”

“_Le Mercury_ then,” Aziraphale said with a smile, “The more expensive the restaurant, the more likely you need to make a reservation.”

“Ah,” Crowley chuckled, “I didn’t think about that.”

“Don’t worry,” Aziraphale hushed, “We can go to _Clos Maggiore_ next time.”

Crowley struggled with the promise of a next time for a moment and jogged to catch up with Aziraphale. They took a wrong turn and walked a little further than necessary through the fresh snow until they reached the Islington restaurant. They were shown to a table and Aziraphale could not stop smiling, “This place is wonderful.”

“Glad you like it, angel,” Crowley muttered, feeling rather self-conscious regarding the method of this decision, “Not as posh as _Clos Maggiore_.”

“But very romantic,” Aziraphale beamed, enjoying the way the candlelight illuminated Crowley’s pale brown eyes and his hair reflected the flames, “And perfect.”

“Shut up and order some food, angel,” Crowley said, his face blushing in the dim light.

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale murmured bashfully, before looking over the menu, “Oh, I think I might try their _Poitrine de Porc_.”

“Don’t you want a starter?” Crowley asked sincerely.

“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale sighed, “I won’t have room for any cake if I have a starter as well.”

Crowley chuckled, “All right, I’ll allow that.”

A young waitress walked over with a flirtatious swagger and gave Aziraphale a curious look before speaking to Crowley, “Ready to order gentlemen?”

“Yes,” Crowley nodded, “He’ll have the _Poitrine de Proc_ and I’ll have the _Magret de Canard_.”

Crowley then looked up at the waitress and paled, but she simply nodded and continued professionally, “And anything to drink?”

“Depends if you think we’re old enough for alcohol,” Crowley asked tactfully, “We appear to have forgotten our IDs.”

The woman looked at them and contemplated this, “Perhaps a bottle of Pinot Noir?”

“Sounds lovely,” Crowley said with a nervous smile, “Can we have some water as well?”

“Of course,” She said with a smile and left them.

“What was that about?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“Her name’s Alice,” Crowley confessed nervously, “She recommended the restaurant… didn’t realise she worked here.”

“Is that a problem?” Aziraphale asked, clearly noting Crowley’s pained tone.

“Uh, not really…” Crowley moaned, “Only she’s one of those exes I mentioned.”

Aziraphale blushed and looked rather panicked, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Crowley groaned, “Not awkward at all.”

Aziraphale had many questions but was not at all sure he wanted the answers, Crowley met his gaze and seemed to read his mind, “February. We met up a few times in February. She’s well aware that I’m queer, and we weren’t serious… or particularly exclusive.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and Crowley squirmed, “Not like that. I knew she slept around, I never… too risky.”

“Risky?” Aziraphale asked earnestly.

“Remember Lucien?” Crowley asked quietly, “Well, that… incident left me with some trust issues. I only ever have one partner at a time, I just ask for honesty.”

Before Aziraphale could respond, Alice returned with the wine and two glasses, “So, Tony? Who’s your friend?”

“Zira,” Crowley answered, “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” Alice allowed, “Surgery went well.”

“Good,” Crowley smiled softly, “How’s the family?”

“I’ve been disinherited and kicked out,” She stated bluntly, “But everything else is alright. You enjoy your date.”

Aziraphale watched her walk away, his heart heavy with pity and remorse for her, “What surgery?”

“Gender reassignment,” Crowley answered, “Alice was born in a male body. She’s been on meds for years, but she only had the surgery done last summer. Her parents were struggling to accept her as their daughter. Clearly her family have decided to cut her off rather than accept her for who she is.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale nodded, “That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded, “Her life’s been tough.”

“And she recommended the restaurant?” Aziraphale asked, feeling utterly inadequate. Alice was stunning and confident, someone very much like Crowley, and Aziraphale was very aware of how inadequate he was in comparison to nearly every other human on the planet.

“Yeah,” Crowley moaned, “I like I said; I didn’t know she worked here, and we’ve not seen each other in nearly a year.”

“She very pretty,” Aziraphale commented quietly, sipping at his water while Crowley poured their wine, “Why did she agree to give us wine?”

“She must be twenty-two now,” Crowley muttered, “And I may have lied about my age when we met.”

“You what?” Aziraphale stammered, “Why?”

“Well I was drinking illegally in a bar with a fake ID,” Crowley shrugged, “So when she asked, I said I was eighteen.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded, “You skipped school to go to a bar?”

“Obviously,” Crowley smirked, “Besides, Valentine’s day in a Catholic school is bloody depressing.”

Aziraphale nodded, knowing all too well the heartache that came with watching young courters holding hands and kissing chastely when they thought no one was looking, and the mysterious roses some of the more attractive students received. Despite being a saint, Valentine’s day was not recognised or encouraged in Tadfield Academy, but that never seemed to stop the hormonal teenagers from trying, “I’m sure you get lots of attention.”

Crowley laughed, “Yeah right! As if?! Sure, Hastur gets a little weird, and there were a couple girls who were a little creepy a few years ago, but no, I don’t get much attention at all. I bet you get lots of chocolates.”

“I have never received as much as a Valentine’s card,” Aziraphale admitted, calmly.

Crowley leaned heavily on the table and stared at him, as if trying to find the truth from Aziraphale’s eyes, “Really? Girls are stupid.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale sighed in frustration but could not bring himself to protest.

Crowley seemed to back down, but his mischievous smile remained, “Perhaps we should go out Valentine’s day?”

Aziraphale blushed and squirmed, “I think that would be nice.”

“Good,” Crowley whispered.

Alice returned with their food, her posture was stiffer and less flirtatious than before, but she was just as polite and professional, “Here you are. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you, Alice,” Crowley replied softly.

She gave Aziraphale a curious glance, “You better give us good rating.”

“And good tip for the service,” Crowley winked, “I didn’t realise you worked here.”

“That’s alright,” She said with a smile, “I just wanted to show off my new figure anyway.”

“You look great,” Crowley said softly, clearly uncomfortable.

“I’d go as far as stunning,” Aziraphale said suddenly, “Despite the uniform.”

Alice’s face lit up, “Thank you Zira. I’m not sure if Tony told you,” She leaned down and whispered, “But I was born a _boy_.”

“And you have grown to become a beautiful woman,” Aziraphale assured her without hesitation, “Any parent should be proud to have you as a daughter.”

“Stop, you’ll make me cry!” Alice hushes, rubbing her cheek, “This one’s a keeper, Tony.”

“I had noticed,” Crowley murmured, blushing.

Alice sniggered, “Wow, Tony blushing and flustered? You’ve got him good.”

Alice left to serve other customers and Aziraphale looked back of Crowley who was staring at his food, “She’s nice.”

“I think she wants to ask you on a date instead of me now,” Crowley retorted, picking up his wineglass.

“Not really my type,” Aziraphale murmured before tasting the wine and they began eating their meal. They talked and laughed through their meal until the restaurant emptied.

“Sorry, gents,” Alice said softly, “But it’s nearly eleven and we’ll be closing soon.”

“Oh, right,” Crowley said grabbing his bag, “I’ll use the bathroom and pay downstairs. See you in a minute.”

Crowley left and Alice carefully lowered herself into his seat, “So, Zira. Where on earth did he find you?”

“Uh,” Aziraphale blanked, he couldn’t very well say ‘school’ if she thought they were nineteen years old, “We met in September. At university.”

“Oh?” Alice said a little surprised, “Which Uni?”

“Oxford Brookes, not to be mistaken for Oxford University,” Aziraphale said quickly, pleased with his quick thinking, “He does art, and I’m doing history.”

“Nice,” She nodded, “How long have you two been together then? Sorry, I shouldn’t pry, but Tony did not strike me as the romantic-date-type. I expected him to ignore my suggestion and if not, he’d just sit at the bar to find someone to flirt with. I never imagined he’d bring a _date_.”

“Well…” Aziraphale shifted in his seat, “We met in September. Housemates, actually, but… he didn’t make a move until just over a week ago. This is our first date.”

Alice smiled, “First? That sounds promising.”

Aziraphale blushed, “I hope so.”

“Sorry I interrupted,” Alice whispered, “But if you can cope with a flirtatious transgender ex-partner, you can handle anything.”

“Perhaps one day I’ll be able to tell my mother,” Aziraphale muttered to himself.

“Ah,” Alice grimaced, “It’s hard, trust me, but you’ll feel better. Tony seems to have you sussed though.”

“Yes, he does rather,” Aziraphale acknowledged, he rose to his feet and collected his bag, but before approaching the stairs he stopped, “What… happened between you two?”

Alice shrugged, “It was just physical, and before he met you.”

“Why invite him here then?” Aziraphale asked softly, “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I…” Alice signed, “I was lonely. I told my family and my worst fears were realised. I expected him to ignore the text, he avoids must of the drunken messages; he texts back regarding how I’m doing and little else. I get offers from time to time by men at the bar, but, I worry because I’m not… I feel safer going to gay bars, but then I'm female trying to hook up with guys so…”

“You’ll find someone,” Aziraphale said in a comforting voice, “If someone loves you, they won’t care about what you were before, only who you are.”

“Sounds like experience to me,” Alice teased, following him down the narrow stairs.

“Well, I had rather surrendered to the idea of becoming a celibate priest,” Aziraphale chuckled to himself.

“Priests can marry and have sex,” Alice retorted.

“Not Catholic ones.”

“Ah,” She nodded with understanding, “Just stay away from the choir boys.”

“Ew!” Aziraphale retched, “God no, that is utterly disgusting!”

Alice laughed and suddenly Aziraphale was joining her, they walked down to the ground floor to find Crowley looking at them sceptically, “Should I be worried?”

“Only if you mistreat this sweetheart,” Alice assured him with a smile.

“Never,” Crowley said softly, “Ready to go, angel?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded, pulling on his coat and gloves, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Alice.”

“You two enjoy your night,” She said with a smile as she led them out of the small restaurant.

“She’s nice,” Aziraphale said again softly over the sound of the snow crunching beneath their feet.

“Do I want to know what you were talking about when I wasn’t there?” Crowley asked cautiously.

“Nothing really,” Aziraphale shrugged, “Oh, I told her we were studying at Oxford Brookes. She asked how we met, and I decided housemates at university was close enough to the truth.”

“Am I not smart enough for Oxford?” Crowley protested.

“I was not sure how much you had told her,” He reasoned, “And as a self-proclaimed truant, I thought Oxford might be pushing credulity. Art at Oxford Brookes seemed a little more plausible.”

“I think I told her I was a bar-tender,” Crowley pondered, “But people work at Uni, so it works.”

They walked to the closest underground station, and after Crowley exhausted his Angel jokes, they boarded a train to Kings Cross and changed the for the Circle Line to Paddington. Aziraphale went to buy them hot drinks while Crowley checked the timetable.

“Angel?” He called, not taking his eyes off the notice boards, “We’ve got a problem.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, handing Crowley a gingerbread latte while he sipped at his hot chocolate, “What sort of problem?”

“There aren’t any trains,” Crowley muttered, staring at the blank noticeboards for a moment before looking around for a member of staff, “Wait here.”

He ran over to the tired-looking gentleman in a high-vis jacket, “Hey! Why aren’t there any trains?”

He groaned, “That there white stuff is called snow, and there’s too much of it on the tracks. So there ain’t any trains.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Yes, thank you. When is the next train to Oxford?”

The man shrugged, “None tonight, you’ll have to check the website tomorrow.”

He walked off and Crowley bit his lip, thinking. He walked towards Aziraphale who was finishing a conversation on his phone, “Hey, apparently there aren’t any trains tonight because of the snow.”

Aziraphale ended the call and nodded, “I guessed as much, I just told my mother I’ll be staying at a friend’s house due to the poor weather.”

“And she was okay with that?” Crowley asked, trying not to get too over-excited.

“Well it’s not as if driving to London to pick me up is an option,” Aziraphale reasoned, “She barely drives in the rain.”

“I should probably call home too,” Crowley muttered, he took out his phone and tapped on his sister’s photo.

“You nearly home yet?” She asked in a quiet tone.

“Not exactly,” Crowley muttered, “I need to know what you told him?”

“I said you went to London for the day to look at some crappy art,” Lily replied with an exasperated sigh, “But the later it gets the more suspicious he gets.”

“Ironically, we did go to the Tate,” Crowley chuckled and could almost hear his sister roll her eyes, “But we’re now trapped in London because of the weather.”

“Crap!” Lily hissed, “Fine, call the landline, easy enough to confirm. Not sure how he’ll handle the truth though.”

“Sure,” He ended the call and pressed the photo of his dad and selected the home number.

“What?” His father said bluntly.

“Hey, dad,” Crowley said, waiting for his father’s rage, “Lost track of time in London and the trains have all been cancelled due to the snow.”

“You fucking idiot,” He dad grumbled and ended the call.

“Language,” Crowley hissed at his phone and turned to see Aziraphale standing behind him patiently, “So what are we going to do?”

“There are probably a couple of hotels nearby,” Aziraphale offered and smiled as Crowley froze, “Well I don’t particularly fancy sleeping in a cold train station, do you?”

Crowley lost his cool for a moment and shook off his distracting thoughts, “Uh, no, um… lead the way.”

The first few hotels were full due to the lack of trains leaving London Paddington, but soon enough they found one with a few spare rooms. Crowley checked his phone while Aziraphale insisted on paying for a room, only to find several worried texts from his sister:

_Dad’s pissed. What did you say?_

_Don’t even try Waterloo. They’re snowed in too._

_What are you going to do??_

_How was your date?? _;)

Crowley grimaced and began typing; _I told dad the truth; no trains home due to snow. Date went really well, I think. He’s booking us into a hotel for the night_.

He had barely locked the screen when his phone buzzed with another test; _LOL! I think he likes you! I’ll try to calm down dad before the snow thaws. P.S. PLEASE tell me it’s the angel from the play!!!_

“I hate you,” Crowley muttered, not bothering to reply.

“Hate whom?” Aziraphale asked innocently, snowflakes glistening in his white-gold curls making him glow slightly.

“Just my sister, being… well, my sister,” Crowley shrugged, he glanced at the key card in Aziraphale’s hands, “All done?”

Aziraphale nodded nervously, “The lifts are this way.”

They got into the lift and stood in awkward silence for the first time that day, Aziraphale kept stealing glances until he accidentally caught Crowley’s eye and blushed. Crowley sauntered over to his side of the lift as it ascended and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, “I really enjoyed today.”

“So did I,” Aziraphale breathed, holding Crowley in his arms in return. Neither could recall who moved first, but they became so lost in their kiss they almost forgot to leave the elevator. Aziraphale found himself holding Crowley’s hand and pulling him towards their room and wondered how this came to feel so normal so quickly. He struggled with the key card for a moment, but once the door was open and Aziraphale activated the lights, Crowley was kissing him against the wall in the narrow hallway beside the en suite. Aziraphale had no experience with kissing but was delighted with every moan that escaped Crowley’s throat with every kiss returned.

Crowley pulled back slightly, his deep red hair was a mess, his face flushed, and his eyes visibly dilated after his sunglasses fell off, “Too fast?”

Aziraphale smiled and shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.”

He pushed Crowley against the opposite wall and claimed his mouth. His hands wandered down Crowley’s lean body until he suddenly hooked his hands under his arse and lifted him easily off the ground, guiding Crowley’s legs to rest on Aziraphale’s hips while he pinned the redhead against the wall.

“Fucking hell, angel!” Crowley cursed and laughed as he clung to Aziraphale.

“I won’t drop you, my dear,” Aziraphale hushed, kissing and nibbling at his neck. He felt Crowley relax slightly and rolled his hips against Crowley’s.

“Ah!” Crowley cried out, clinging to Aziraphale and tangling his fingers in his short white-gold curls, “A-angel!”

Aziraphale smiled and continued rolling his pelvis with slow precision until both of them were gasping and panting against the wall.

“B-bed,” Crowley groaned, as his sharp teeth scraped against Aziraphale jugular.

“Mhm…” Aziraphale agreed and carried Crowley towards the bed, ignoring his panicked squeals as he placed him carefully on the soft mattress and leaned over him with a worried expression, “I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure on what I’m going.”

Crowley stared up at him with a dazed look in his soft brown eyes, “You can start by taking off your clothes.”

Aziraphale blushed and undid his coat, before carefully removing his jacket and waistcoat. Crowley lay on the bed staring at him before leaping forward suddenly to remove Aziraphale’s bow tie with his teeth.

Aziraphale laughed, “You seem to have some experience with that.”

“Well, when your boyfriend likes wear bow ties,” Crowley purred, pulling the tie from Aziraphale’s collar, “You find yourself watching YouTube videos as to how to tie, and more importantly, untie them.”

Aziraphale giggled and leaned down to kiss him as he fumbled with the buttons on his own shirt, “Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?”

Crowley whined, wrapping his hands around Aziraphale’s waist, “But then I couldn’t touch you.”

“Please?” Aziraphale breathed softly and Crowley’ hands were suddenly tugging at his own clothes with some haste. Aziraphale hurried with the remainder of his outer clothes until he was wearing nothing but his boxers and knelt on the bed bedside Crowley who was caressing him lovingly again.

“God, you’re glorious,” Crowley groaned, as he squeezed Aziraphale gently and nuzzled his neck.

“If you say so,” Aziraphale gasped, losing himself in his unburdened joy as Crowley kissed him.

“Yes, I do, and for once I know something,” Crowley nodded, he then leaned back looking Aziraphale in the eye solemnly, “How far do you want to go? I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Aziraphale gave him a bold smile, “Well I did book this room…”

Crowley looked around and noticed that they were sat on the only bed in the room.

“I wasn’t sure how you would react,” Aziraphale continued, “But then we got rather distracted in the lift.”

Crowley shifted backwards against the clean pillows, “Come here then.”

He bit his lip and grinned before crawling along the length of the double bed towards Crowley, lightly caressing him and kissing his neck and shoulders as he nestled between Crowley’s legs. Aziraphale placed light kisses across his chest and flat stomach.

“Fuck me,” Crowley groaned, tangling his finger in Aziraphale’s hair. Suddenly, Aziraphale leapt off the bed and retrieved his bag from where he dropped it in the doorway, “Where are you going?”

Aziraphale returned to him with an exuberant smile, “Maybe I will.”

“Will what?” Crowley gasped as Aziraphale sucked his neck.

Aziraphale leaned back slightly and held up a small bottle, “Fuck you… if you want to of course.”

Crowley was dumbstruck for a moment, “Yes! Obviously!”

Aziraphale crashed against him, kissing and laughing until Crowley lost his patience and pulled off his underwear, “Angel, fuck me… please.”

Aziraphale looked him over, perfect and wanton, and for some reason desperate for him. He slid off the bed and removed his own underwear and squirmed as Crowley watched him hungrily as he returned to the bed. He knelt between Crowley’s knees with the lubricant in hand and hesitated.

“Are you alright, angel?” Crowley asked softly, perfectly patient.

“Yes,” Aziraphale smiled, “Just savouring the sight of you.”

Crowley chuckled, “Shut up.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, kissing Crowley deeply, uncapping the lube blindly and wetting his fingers with it before reaching down between Crowley’s legs. Crowley shuddered and moaned as Aziraphale wetted his entrance and lazily stroked his cock. Eventually, Aziraphale’s fingers returned to Crowley’s arse and carefully pushed the tip of a finger inside.

“Angel,” Crowley groaned, falling back against the cushions. Aziraphale slowly eased his digit deeper inside him, carefully watching Crowley for any signs of discomfort, but he only moaned louder. He moved faster until Crowley had relaxed entirely and suddenly pushed in a second digit, “AH!”

“Sorry!” Aziraphale squeaked.

“God, _yes_!” Crowley shouted, pushing his hips against Aziraphale’s hand. He stilled before pushing back inside, watching the redhead fall apart at his touch. He curled his fingers and felt Crowley tense as he cried out for him. Crowley breath came short and laboured, panting as he opened his perfect brown eyes to meet Aziraphale’s, “Now. Now, angel, please.”

Aziraphale bit his lip and retracted his fingers, squirty a bit more lube onto his hand and thrust his own dick a few times to moisten himself. He held himself over Crowley, using one arm to support himself as the other hand guided himself to Crowley’s arse. He brushed himself against Crowley and hesitated, “Crowley?”

Crowley’s eyes fluttered up to meet his blue gaze, “Yes angel?”

Aziraphale leaned down and gently kissed Crowley’s cheek, “I love you.”

He pushed inside, painfully slow, and Crowley clung to him desperately. Aziraphale gasped and shuddered as he pushed deeper, feeling Crowley stretch to accommodate him. He fell against Crowley, breathing him in once he was fully inside, trying to calm him breathing and give Crowley time to adjust.

“You feel amazing,” Aziraphale gasped against Crowley’s neck.

“Move, please,” Crowley asked softly, his breath just as laboured, “I love you.”

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered, which was rather illogical given their current position. He rolled his hips a few times, rubbing against his lover, until he decided Crowley was relaxed enough for more. He had never watched porn, or adult films and television, but he read, and nothing he had ever read regarding sex between persons of any gender had prepared him for how good it felt. He pulled out slightly and tentatively pushed back inside, he gathered he was going a little slow, but Crowley was far from complaining. He repeated the motion, steadily increasing his pace, until he realised, he needed to adjust himself to hit Crowley’s prostate. He pulled back and tilted his hips, before snapping back inside.

“Fuck!” Crowley screamed, digging his nails into Aziraphale’s back and wrapping his legs tightly around Aziraphale’s hips. He smiled and kissed Crowley deeply, swallowing ever cry and groan as he thrust back inside him, holding him as he shuddered and fell apart beneath him.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes…” Crowley cried out, Aziraphale was pretty sure his was leaving marks across his back, but he barely felt a thing and the sight of Crowley’s pleasure was certainly worth a few scratches, _“Zira!”_

“I love you,” Aziraphale gasped, his rhythm falling apart as he felt himself peaking, “Crowley…”

He leaned back and Crowley whined at the loss of him, Aziraphale had no idea what he was doing, but everything he had done so far seemed to have the desired effect. He knelt, pushing his knees beneath Crowley’s arse and pushed his knees up before thrusting himself back inside. Crowley screamed and for a horrifying moment Aziraphale thought he had hurt him, but Crowley was smiling, and his own hands reached out to hold his knees. Aziraphale repeated the motion with a little more care and slowly worked up to that same strength.

“_Ah_-angel,” Crowley gasped, “I… I’m so close…”

He thrust back inside, completely losing all control, watching Crowley’s head roll back as he cried out. Suddenly, Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s cock and stroked him.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley cried as white semen squirted across his stomach and bucked against Aziraphale’s hand and cock. He tightened as he came and Aziraphale’s vision blurred as his fucked him through his own orgasm. Finally, his crashed against Crowley’s sweat-slick body, breathing heavily as they came down.

“Virgin my arse,” Crowley groaned.

“What?” Aziraphale muttered sleepily.

“You,” Crowley chuckled, “There is no fucking way that was your first time.”

Aziraphale frowned and sat up, “I’ve never had sex before. I promise.”

“What virgin goes around with lube in their bag?” Crowley muttered, still smiling and breathing deeply.

Aziraphale shifted a little, “One that listens to a friend.”

“Oh?”

“I may have told Anathema I had a date,” Aziraphale whined, “I had to tell _someone_, and she suggested I go… prepared.”

“You told Anathema Device you were going on a date with me?” Crowley grinned.

“Not exactly,” Aziraphale admitted, “I rather left names and genders out of it.”

“And she suggested lube?” Crowley asked pointedly and sniggered as Aziraphale’s face fell in worry, “Relax angel, any girl that guesses and suggests you buy lubricant is an ally. I think I need to buy her some flowers.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Aziraphale whined, “Then she’ll know what I’ve done.”

“Fine,” Crowley teased, “I won’t get the ‘_thanks for the lube_’ card.”

“And the condoms,” Aziraphale muttered and froze, “Oh, God! I completely forgot! I’m so sorry!”

“What?” Crowley groaned, still rather dazed, “I promise I don’t have anything, I got tested.”

Aziraphale scurried back to his bag and handed Crowley a piece of paper. He took it and read it over before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“What?” Aziraphale asked nervously.

“What on earth did I do to deserve you?” Crowley beamed, kissing Aziraphale and throwing the doctor’s note that stated Aziraphale had no identifiable sexually transmitted infections or diseases. He pulled the blond into his arms and crashed back onto the bed, “You know, this is the first time in three years I’ve forgotten protection too. And the first time in three years I’ve let someone inside me.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale murmured, feeling awfully guilty.

“I love you,” Crowley hushed, “I sucked you off remember? We didn’t use protection then either. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Aziraphale whispered and then groaned, “I think we need a shower.”

Crowley moaned but slid out of the bed regardless, “Come on then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the places listed in Chapters 9 and 10 are real, but with the exception of the Tate Modern, I have not been to any of the restaurants listed.


	11. Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midnight Mass and Aziraphale finally confesses to his sins... though he does not get the answers or forgiveness he expects. Crowley falls ever further in love, and Lily has a gift for her big brother.
> 
> Warning: A little smut, not much. Mostly fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to remind you that I am not Catholic and therefore never confessed. The church is real, but I have never been there, and the priest is utterly fictional.

Aziraphale woke to his mother gently shaking his shoulder, he had not meant to fall asleep, but textbooks on business management did that.

“Come on sweetie,” She said cheerily, “We’ll be late.”

Aziraphale nodded and rubbed his face, once his mother had left his bedroom he changed into his prepared suit; cream and gold. He glanced at his desk at the gift Crowley had given him as they waited for the train to Oxford.

“This… is for you,” Crowley said almost shyly, handing Aziraphale a neatly wrapped present, “Open it Christmas morning and not before.”

Aziraphale smiled, they were so surprisingly shy around each other, which following a night of sin was in itself hilarious. Aziraphale dug through his bag, “I got you something too.”

“Thank you, angel,” Crowley had said gleefully taking the package in return, “Same rules apply?”

“Definitely,” Aziraphale had responded, risking a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Aziraphale smiled at the gift and the memory, before grabbing his phone, gloves and scarf and heading down the stairs to his mother who was waiting with his coat. They walked through the white streets towards the Oxford Oratory Church of St Aloysius Gonzaga. It was barely eleven o’clock, but his mother wished to confess before the midnight mass. They had attended church twice today already; their usual morning mass, and the vigil after dinner. Aziraphale always woke early, but with his mother praying at dawn, two church services, backing, and volunteering at the homeless shelter, he was shattered.

Once inside the warm church, they purified themselves and knelt beside the stoup. His mother greeted her friends and neighbours quietly before stepping inside the confessional. Aziraphale knew he should not pry, but he often wondered what a reclusive housewife could possibly need to confess, perhaps she was confessing to forgetting to change Raphael’s water this morning or missing a spot on the kitchen window. She eventually came out and approached Aziraphale.

“Sweetie, do you have anything to confess?” She said softly.

Aziraphale panicked slightly, and slowly approached the confessional. He closed the door and knelt, making the sign of the cross, “Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”

He knelt in silence for a moment, he knew confession was confidential by sacred law, and confessing to God was vital, but is was also terrifying. He took a deep breath, “I have fallen in love, which in itself is not a sin. But I have fallen in love with… with a man, and… I know the world has changed so much, and many people accept my… but I feel lost and uncertain. He loves me too, and I’m happy, but the Church and my mother say it’s wrong abstractly, never knowing that I am one of those people that are wrong.”

Aziraphale breath caught in his throat, even confessing as if he were sinful felt good, like a weight lifted from his soul.

The priest was silent for a moment, “Is there anything else you wish to confess?”

“Oh, and I confess I took the Lord’s name in vain when Raphael bit by foot this morning,” Aziraphale said hurriedly.

His priest chuckled lightly, “Love is not a sin, my child, and although many still believe that homosexual relations are sinful, it is not. Sex was created by God to produce life, and that can only occur between men and women. However, if humans were created _only_ to reproduce, then surely the infertile are also sinners against God’s plan? Nuns, monks, and priests all go against God’s first instruction by refusing to marry and produce children. God makes no mistakes, and it is not for us to judge Him. Love is a virtue after all, the Devil may tempt us into sins of the flesh, but the heart is commanded by the Lord. As long as you remain true to God’s light, you will never lose your path.”

“But I have sinned,” Aziraphale muttered hopelessly, “I… I lay with him, I can barely look at my mother for fear that she’ll _know_.”

“Did this man tempt you?” The priest asked gently.

_Only in the sense that he’s devilishly handsome and somehow interested in me_, Aziraphale thought instantly, “I’ve known my inclinations long before I met him. I have resisted temptation in the past, though in truth no one has ever paid me any attention. He’s kind and thoughtful. I’m… weak, Father.”

“This sounds more like a confession of love than of sin,” The priest said softly, “The Lord forgives all, and as you said, the world is changing. Homosexuality is not a sin and our Holy Pope is supportive of such acts of love and devotion. Many honest Catholics share their bodies with others out of love and not lust, although sex out of wedlock is frowned upon, it is not uncommon. Saint Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, she sold her body to be used by men to sate their lust, and she was forgiven. Pray to Saint Mary to ease your mind. I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Thanks be to God,” Aziraphale prayed, making the sign of the cross again, “Amen.”

He stood to leave when he heard the young priest speak, “And Aziraphale?”

“Yes?” Aziraphale answered meekly.

“Stop swearing at your cat.”

Aziraphale left the confessional with a smile. Father Thomas was rather new to the church, and not as proper or refined as some of the other Fathers of the parish, which was probably why Aziraphale liked him. He was the sort of man one could sit down and have a nice cup of tea with, without fearing divine retribution or hollow words of comfort.

“Feel better?” His mother asked with a smile, though before waiting for an answer she was pulling him towards a pew. Aziraphale sang and prayed with the rest, but his eyes were fixed upon Saint Mary Magdalene. The Oratory was rather well known for the reredos of saints and angels. There were 48 saints and four angels, two rows either side of the Crucifix, and Aziraphale knew them all; from Saint David to Saint Frideside and Saint Alban, to Saint Francis Xavier and Saint Gertrude, to Saint Winifred to Saint Simon Stock, and Saint Cecilia to Saint Patrick. Uriel, Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel were the four Archangels present, each on different rows. Services at church were often shorter here than at school where Ms Godwin would spend at least five minutes getting the students to quieten down and another half an hour lecturing them on the importance of education and solidarity. Aziraphale followed his mother out of the church a little after half-past midnight into Christmas morning, just in time to see the snow beginning to fall again.

His mother was speaking with one of her friends and Aziraphale took the opportunity to take his phone out of his pocket and wish Crowley a happy Christmas. His phone buzzed instantly.

_You need to learn how to sleep. Happy Christmas, angel xxx_

Aziraphale smiled; _Midnight Mass with Mother. What are you doing up? Don’t forget to open my present xxx_

Buzz, buzz; _Went to that Xmas party I mentioned. It was dull so I came home, just got in. Like I could forget your present, angel? Skype when you get home?? xxx_

_I’ll call you when I get home_, Aziraphale messaged back with a smile, losing himself in thought.

“Merry Christmas, Aziraphale,” Father Thomas said softly, glancing up at the snow.

“Merry Christmas, Father,” Aziraphale replied shyly, he knew damn well Father Thomas could not say anything but knowing that he knew was terrifying.

“Should you ever need someone to talk to,” Father Thomas said discretely, handing Aziraphale a small piece of paper, “I am here for you. In strictest confidence, of course.”

Aziraphale looked at the phone number scribbled on the scrap of paper and paled, “Thank you.”

Father Thomas smiled, “Sometimes, I wish I had had someone to talk to when I was younger. Especially, about these matters. I will listen and help you as best I can. Please convey my season's greetings to your friend.”

Aziraphale watched Father Thomas walk away and speak merrily with some of the other members of the congregation. Numbly, he took out his phone and typed, _Father Thomas wishes you a happy Christmas too._

Buzz, buzz; _What? Why?? Who?!?!?_

Aziraphale read the message a few times before organising his thoughts; _I may have gone to confession and told him about us. He gave me his number in case I needed to talk to someone and wanted me to wish you a happy Christmas. x_

There was a pause before his phone finally buzzed again; _You came out during confession and some old priest gave you his number??_

_He’s not that old, dear._ Aziraphale replied.

Buzz, buzz; _Okay… should I be worried? Jealous? I feel jealous. Jealousy’s a sin, right?_

Aziraphale frowned and shook his head, _Not like that, dear, he’s supportive. No need to let Envy loose._

Buzz, buzz; _If you say so, angel. He gets too close and I’ll set Wrath on him too. Love you xx_

_I love you too xxx_

“Who are you messaging at this hour?” His mother asked suddenly.

Aziraphale composed himself instantly, “A friend mother, wishing us a Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, how lovely,” She chirped, suddenly dismissing the matter from her mind and began walking towards the church gate. Aziraphale counted his blessings and followed her home.

Once inside their quaint terraced house, Aziraphale accepted a hot cup of cocoa and shut himself in his room, promising his mother he would go straight to sleep and not snoop about the house for presents. He opened his laptop and opened Skype, waiting for Crowley to pick up.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley’s voice sounded all distorted and it took a moment for the image to come through, and when it did it was terribly out of sync, “Hang on.”

Aziraphale sat patiently as he watched Crowley walk in slow motion towards the door and heard him yell at his sister before opening his mouth. He walked back and the internet connection strengthened until Crowley was properly synchronised, “That’s better.”

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale muttered bashfully, “You haven’t opened it yet?”

Crowley leaned out of the view of the camera and revealed Aziraphale’s perfectly wrapped gift, “Ta-da, you?”

Aziraphale held up his gift to the camera, “You first.”

“You sure?” Crowley asked, eyeing the package excitedly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale assured him, “We can’t very well open them at the same time _and_ watch each other’s reactions.”

Crowley smirked before ripping through the festive paper to the gift beneath. Aziraphale watched him closely as his pale brown eyes glistened with joy as he realised what was inside, “An artistry kit? These are great, angel.”

“Perhaps now you won’t need to steal so much from Mrs Tracy,” Aziraphale smiled, “Oh, there’s another box inside.”

Crowley carefully set the large box aside and Aziraphale could hear him clicking it open. Crowley came back into Aziraphale’s view with a smaller box, wrapped in the same paper, “I think you should open mine. I got you two things too.”

“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale allowed, he lifted his gift so Crowley could see him open it. What he had thought was one gift appeared to be a large, heavy, rectangular object, and a lighter, thinner object, “Which one?”

“Um…” Crowley pondered momentarily, “Small one first.”

Aziraphale dutifully opened his gift and glowed, “Oh! It’s wonderful!”

Aziraphale admired the painting in the dim light, the angel appeared to almost glow against the dark but colourful background. Crowley shrugged, “I’m cheap.”

“Shush!” Aziraphale scolded, “It’s perfect! Open your other one.”

“Alright,” Crowley nodded, opening the second gift to find a rather expensive looking watch with a face depicting a bright galaxy. Crowley smiled, “To remind me to get to class on time?”

“Something like that,” Aziraphale murmured, “I’m afraid I’ve not had much practise buying people gifts. I get my mother perfume and jewellery sometimes, and I don’t have many friends, those I do have usually get a ten-pound-note in a card…”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted, “I love it. I get to wear something you got me every day, and at least it’s not socks.”

“I did consider novelty socks,” Aziraphale teased, “I’m glad you like it.” He waited until after Crowley had put on the watch before picking up his second gift and looked at it suspiciously.

“Stop staring at it and open it, angel,” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and carefully unwrapped the old leather-bound book, and opened it, “_The True Prophecies or Prognostications of Michael Nostradamus, Physician to Henry II. Francis II. and Charles IX. Kings of France_! Crowley!”

“What?” Crowley shouted a little startled, “Do you not like it?”

Aziraphale held the book cautiously, “You do realise this is a first edition, don’t you?”

“What?” Crowley stammered.

“It says here it was printed in 1672!” Aziraphale squealed, “Well the original was printed in 1555, but that was in French… How in hell did you get this?!”

“Uh…” Crowley stammered, he rubbed his neck nervously, “A charity shop… for a tenner.”

“You found a three-_hundred_-year-old book in a charity shop for _ten_ pounds?” Aziraphale stammered, barely containing his excitement.

“I only got it because you got carried away when talking about foreshadowing in a book which turned into a three-hour monologue about prophecies,” Crowley giggled.

Aziraphale frowned, “I do get carried away sometimes, sorry.”

“You’re adorable when you’re lost in thought,” Crowley swooned, leaning his chin on his hand as he leaned closer to his screen, “I could honestly watch you ramble on about nothing in particular for _hours_.”

“Shut up,” Aziraphale blushed.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered.

“I love you too, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered back, “Although I am quite annoyed with the number of people who call you Anthony.”

Crowley laughed, “People I _like_ call me ‘Crowley’, the less I like them, the more likely they are to call me ‘Tony’. If I’m lying about who I am I introduce myself as ‘Anthony’ or on one occasion, ‘Steve’.”

“Steve?” Aziraphale giggled, “Why ‘Steve’?”

“I don’t know!” Crowley admitted, “It just kind of happened!”

“You’re mad.”

“Only for you,” Crowley teased foolishly.

“Merry Christmas, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, “I love you.”

Crowley smiled, “I love you too, Aziraphale. Get some sleep.”

“How am I supposed to sleep when I have this wonderful ancient book to read?” Aziraphale pouted.

Crowley chuckled, “Keep pouting like that and _I’ll_ be the reason you can’t sleep.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, sounding mockingly aghast.

“You think I’m joking?” Crowley protested with a playful grin, he looked at his new watch, “When’s the next train to Oxford?”

“You wouldn’t _dare_,” Aziraphale countered, not entirely believing his own words.

Crowley winked, “Another week and a half and I won’t need a train to crawl into your bed.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, and summoned as much sinful confidence as he could muster, “Maybe I'll crawl into yours.”

Crowley’s elbow slipped and nearly punched himself in the eye, “Oh, now you’ve done it…”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Night Crowley, sweet dreams.”

“You’re such a bastard,” Crowley groaned, “And technically it’s morning."

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale froze and Crowley clamped his hands over his mouth before realising he could just turn off the microphone on his laptop.

Aziraphale looked towards the door, “Yes mother?”

“Don’t you think you should get some rest?” She asked gently through the closed door, “Early start tomorrow for Mass.”

“Yes mother,” Aziraphale replied stiffly, he slowly turned back to Crowley who was silently laughing his head off.

Eventually, Crowley calmed down and turned on the microphone, “Sorry, angel. That was close.”

“She can’t really judge me for talking to a friend,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Except this _friend_ is flirting and concealing a boner,” Crowley retorted, basking in the sight of Aziraphale blushing until he threatened to combust, “I love you. Speak to you later?”

“I’ll call you later, dear,” Aziraphale promised and they ended their video call.

Crowley sat there, at his desk, staring at the blank screen as his heart drummed in his chest. He checked his door was locked and crashed into bed, slipping his hand into his boxers to relieve some of the tension. He had pleasured himself a lot over the past few months thinking of Aziraphale, but after their date, he had found it lonely. He stroked himself leisurely, trying to image Aziraphale in the darkness fondling him, whispering sweet words of affection. He could almost taste him on his lips and his body still ached at the memory of him inside him. He slicked himself with a small amount of lube and sniggered at the memory. He fucked his hand, imagining what Aziraphale would sound like as he entered him and stole the last of his virginity, groaning as he felt himself climbing higher to his climax. He tightened his fist and bucked his hips, biting down on his hand to stop himself from crying out as he came.

He lay there, catching his breath before cleaning himself up and crawling into bed. He picked up his phone to find another message from Aziraphale which was a photo of the small painting affixed to the wall above his bed and a small message; _much better than the ceramic dove my grandmother got me_.

_Stop decorating, angel and get some sleep_, Crowley texted back with a smirk.

_Goodnight, my dear xxx_

Crowley opened his photos and smiled at the picture of Aziraphale in the snow, in the city lights, and fell asleep.

Crowley woke up to his sister yelling at their dad and begrudgingly crawled out of his bed. He unlocked his phone to find a morning text from Aziraphale that gave him a smile for a while. He dressed in skinny jeans and the most obnoxious Christmas jumper he owned, before crashing into the seasonal mayhem that was his home.

_“Thank God it's Christmas! Can it be Christmas? Let it be Christmas Every day!”_ Crowley sang at the top of his lungs as he jumped down the stairs to greet his diabolical family.

“Always with _Queen_,” Lily groaned, judging him.

“Morning,” Their dad grumbled, “Eat your food, you can open your presents later.”

Crowley groaned and sat down at the table, looking at the selection of own-brand cereals and instead poured himself a coffee ignoring their father pouring whiskey into his own coffee and crashing in front of the TV in the other room, “Morning Lily, how are you?”

“Cold.” She replied bluntly, “How’s the angel?”

Crowley sucked his teeth, he had tried dismissing her guesses, yet she somehow just _knew_, “Fine.”

Lily smiled, “Just fine? You never did tell me how your date went.”

Crowley hissed, “I went great, thank you. Why are you so interested? Why is _everyone_ so damn interested?”

“Because you’re in love?” Lily offered simply, she almost laughed as Crowley’s face dropped, “Oh, come on! It’s bloody obvious. It’s sickeningly adorable.”

“I hate you,” Crowley hissed.

Lily smiled and handed her brother a poorly wrapped gift, “This one’s a secret.”

Crowley frowned and opened the gift, inside was a small simple wooden box with a carving of a snake and wings upon the lid, “What’s this?”

“A hope box,” Lily said quietly, “You put things that make you happy and wish for inside. I’ve seen the snake design in your sketchbooks.”

Crowley opened the box expecting to find it empty and found a wad of cash inside.

“One hundred pounds,” Lily explained quietly, “Didn’t seem right taking money when you’re so happy. I knew you wouldn’t trust me to keep my mouth shut if I didn’t take it.”

Crowley frowned and met his sister’s gaze, “Should I say thank you?”

“Can if you like,” Lily shrugged, “Though I do have a reputation to maintain.”

She stood and went into the kitchen to wash up her bowl, leaving Crowley alone with his thoughts as he checked the money and almost dropped the box on the table when a condom fell out, “I hate her.”


	12. New Year's Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a benign chapter, gentle as Crowley and Aziraphale figure out their relationship.

Aziraphale almost leapt out of his mother’s car before she had parked and was busily unpacking his belonging out of the boot when she finally got out of the car.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” She asked softly, “You seem… excited.”

Aziraphale shrugged, “It’s cold and I have friends to see.”

“Will I meet your new friend?” His mother asked sweetly with a smile, she always showed a little interest in her son’s social life, not that he had much of a social life.

Aziraphale panicked slightly, “Perhaps. He should be here soon.”

His mother always dropped him off at school early, wishing to avoid the heavier traffic. Usually, though, she would wait by the car as Aziraphale unpacked the car and carried his stuff to his dormitory. Today, she carried one of his lighter bags to the room he shared with Crowley.

“Oh, these are nice,” His mother said, admiring Crowley’s artwork that was still affixed to the walls, given they only had a few weeks off for Christmas, Crowley and Aziraphale decided to only pack the essentials and leave the rest of their belongings behind.

“Crowley is rather artistic,” Aziraphale explained, thinking ‘nice’ was far too inadequate to express the beauty captured in the paint, pencil, and charcoal, “Not academically minded, but very intelligent.”

“Does Crowley have a first name?” His mother asked absentmindedly, feigning interest as she scrutinised Aziraphale’s shelf. The few books she owned were organised alphabetically, but Aziraphale preferred thematic and chronological over alphabetical organisation. It simply did not make sense to have volumes of history textbooks to be separated by works of fiction simply based on the names of the authors.

“Anthony Judas,” Aziraphale replied instantly, unpacking his clothes into his closet, “He prefers Crowley though.”

“I think Anthony is a very respectable name,” His mother retorted, shifting his volume of Shakespeare next to Shelly which was filed with Aziraphale’s books of classic horror.

_‘Aziraphale’ is practically alien_, Aziraphale thought to himself, trying not to glower as his mother rearranged his bookshelf.

“I’ll go and get your other things, sweetie,” His mother said with a gentle smile and left him alone with his thoughts.

Mrs Fell wandered down the stairs and back to the car, to get Aziraphale’s last box of belongings; mostly Christmas presents and the books he had insisted on bringing back to school with him. She was not as well-read and could not fathom how Aziraphale had become the young man he was. She was proud of him, in so many ways, but she was so different from him and found him hard to connect with. She was brought out of her thoughts by a scrawny troublesome looking youth poking through Aziraphale’s belongings that they had left beside the car.

“Typical angel,” The boy murmured before hefting the box awkwardly, “Bloody _hell_…”

“Can I help you?” Mrs Fell asked cautiously.

The youth was tall with striking red hair and for some reason wearing sunglasses, “Oh… um, this is Aziraphale’s right?”

“Yes,” Mrs Fell nodded, “Do you know him?”

“I’m his roommate this year,” The redhead answered, then he carefully lowered the box and smiled, offering his hand in welcome, “You must be Mrs Fell.”

Mrs Fell shook his outstretched and hand and returned his smile, “Yes, you must be Anthony. Aziraphale has told me all about you.”

The redhead seemed to find that mildly amusing, “Only the good stuff I’m sure. Sorry if I startled you, I just thought I’d help him with his things.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Mrs Fell smiled, “How did you know that was Aziraphale’s?”

“I only know one person who reads Chaucer,” the redhead offered, “And I bought him the book by Nostradamus.”

“Oh!” Mrs Fell beamed, and Crowley was startlingly aware of the family resemblance, “Aziraphale absolutely adores it, he barely puts it down. I’m not a fan of these books on prophecy, but Aziraphale loves it.”

“Yeah,” Crowley murmured nervously, he picked up the box again and began walking towards the sixth for dorm, “How was your Christmas?”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Mrs Fell said, falling into his stride, “Aziraphale tells me you’re artistic, I love the painting you gave him.”

“Oh,” Crowley blushed, “You liked that?”

“Oh yes!” Mrs Fell smiled, “I’m afraid my knowledge of art is terribly limited. But it is a very beautiful angel.”

_Yes, he is_, Crowley thought to himself, “Don’t worry about it. I’m artistic, but I’m not very good at learning about other artists.”

“Ah,” Mrs Fell nodded, “How was your Christmas?”

_Shit_, Crowley thought instantly, “Not too bad, met up with Aziraphale. Stopped my parents killing each other.”

Mrs Fell frowned, “Your parents?”

“Are divorced,” Crowley explained, “You’d think living apart would ease the tension. At least a little bit. They can barely breath the same air without screaming at each other.”

“Oh, no,” Mrs Fell sighed, “That’s terrible.”

“Eh, we’re used to it,” Crowley chuckled, Mrs Fell held the door open for him, “Thanks.”

“Well,” Mrs Fell began timidly, “If you ever need anywhere to stay during the holidays, you will always welcome with us.”

Crowley nearly dropped the box, but Aziraphale’s mother did not seem to notice as they wandered towards the elevator.

“Ever since my husband died, the house has been terribly quiet,” Mrs Fell continued, “Aziraphale is rather shy and it’s nice to see him finally making friends.”

“If it’s not too forward,” Crowley said cautiously, “How did Mr Fell die? Aziraphale doesn’t talk about it, and I’ve never found an appropriate time to ask. Not that there’s ever an appropriate time, that came out wrong…”

“You’re just curious,” Mrs Fell sighed, “Emmanuel died in a car crash. It was a long time ago, but Aziraphale admired his father.”

Crowley contemplated her tone and choice of words, wondering about what she was not saying.

“Now it’s just me, Aziraphale, and Raphael.” She said sadly with a dreamy look in her eyes, content.

“Raphael?”

“Our cat,” Mrs Fell smiled, and Crowley smiled back.

“Unfortunately, I don’t get along with anyone in my family,” Crowley admitted, “Although my sister is starting to warm up to me… which usually means she wants something.”

“What’s your sister’s name?” Mrs Fell asked politely.

“Lily,” Crowley replied, most people did not take kindly to hearing she was called ‘Lilith’, and if she ever found out he was introducing her to people by her legal name there would be hell to pay.

“Such a lovely name,” Mrs Fell smiled, “I had wanted other children, but God granted me only one.”

“Sometimes it’s for the best,” Crowley offered, “Siblings either love or hate each other. In my experience, not even God can control which. I adored my sister when we were little, but now we just clash and argue. Although we learned to argue from our parents.”

“Such a shame,” Mrs Fell frowned, following Crowley out of the elevator and down the corridor towards room _4004_, “You’re such a lovely young fellow, do you have many friends?”

“A few,” Crowley allowed, “Mostly the _wrong_ sort. Your son has been a godsend, honestly. Ms Godwin was ready to kick me out of the school for good.”

“Yes,” Mrs Fell said cheerily, “He is such a sweet boy, practically a saint.”

“He speaks about you a lot really,” Mrs Fell admitted, “Though he doesn’t say much, but I’ve seen the way he checks his phone, and he often talks about classes and helping you with your studies. I can tell you’re very good friends.”

_Yes_, Crowley thought to himself, fighting against the blush that threated to turn his face as red as his hair, _very good friends_. He smiled, “I’ve spent a long time around the wrong people, it’s quite refreshing and rather surprising to be around such a good influence.”

Mrs Fell practically glowed, “I know. I’m very proud of him, and often quite ashamed that I am not nearly as good as he is. He’s always been so giving, as a young child he would instantly give away his favourite toys if he thought another child needed it more. He does an awful amount for charity and takes absolutely no pride in it at all. He once walked a girl home after volunteering at a charity-shop because he thought she was vulnerable and thought I would punish him for being late. I was terribly worried, but as soon as he told me the truth, I was so proud. I wish I were more like him really.”

Crowley smiled softly, “I’ve known you two minutes and I can already see where Aziraphale gets his heart of gold.”

Mrs Fell blushed slightly, “Oh, well, um… thank you, Anthony.”

She opened the door for Crowley, and he set the box on Aziraphale’s desk, “Guess who I ran into?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale flustered, looking between his boyfriend and his mother in muted panic, “How did…?”

“I saw Chaucer and thought of you” Crowley teased and Aziraphale frowned at the idea Crowley was going around stealing boxes of books, “And I recognised your Christmas present.”

“Anthony and I were just talking about your gift of charity and kindness,” Mrs Fell smiled brightly, “You’ve done so much to help Anthony and I could not be happier.”

Aziraphale frowned at the use of ‘Anthony’, “What has he been saying about me?”

“All the good stuff,” Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale struggled to control his heart rate, he would not have been surprised if Crowley had winked at him, but the dark sunglasses obscured his golden eyes, “Thank you for bringing my things, do you need a hand with your stuff?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, shrugging off his backpack, “This is all I brought back, left most of my stuff here anyway.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale smiled, “Finished the essay on the Tudor Kings yet?”

“Nope,” Crowley admitted, crashing heavily onto his bed and gave Aziraphale a sinful smirk before lowering his voice sensuously, “I think some late-night study sessions are needed.”

Aziraphale was not sure if he wanted to laugh or slap him for blatantly flirting in front of his conservative mother, but his mother did not notice the connotation, “Aziraphale is awfully clever when it comes to books and history.”

Crowley’s brow furrowed slightly, noticing the hollowness in her words as if she had no idea how insanely smart her son was, “No wonder he’s planning on studying English and History at university.”

“Oh, I think not,” Mrs Fell said with a smile, “He’s always had such a mind for Business Management. He’ll be quite piously successful I think.”

Crowley did not even try to hide his frown, but smiled innocently when Aziraphale’s mother faced him, “Not sure you can be _piously_ successful in business.”

“I’m sure Aziraphale will find a way,” Mrs Fell retorted, “Well it was lovely to meet you, Anthony, but I really best be going. Love you, sweetie.”

She kissed Aziraphale on the cheek and left. Aziraphale released a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly, “Why did you do that?”

“Sorry, angel,” Crowley grinned, “Flirting just kind of happens around you.”

“I mean about university,” Aziraphale elaborated nervously, “Although, yes, the flirting was rather silly.”

“All I said was you studying English and history. I didn’t mention Scotland at all. How was I supposed to know she had your whole life planned?” Crowley protested, “I can see you running a business though.”

“Really?” Aziraphale said with a small smile.

“Yep,” Crowley nodded, “A bookshop.”

“You snake!” Aziraphale teased with a smile.

“What?” Crowley laughed, “You love books! You could specialise in old, rare books.”

Aziraphale sighed and nervously sat on his bed, “How were the Dowlings?”

“Charming as ever,” Crowley allowed, “Oh, they got you a gift.”

He dug through his bag and pulled out a small present, Aziraphale took it nervously, “Oh dear, I didn’t get them anything.”

“Well, Harriet’s main gift to me was a new prescription,” Crowley shrugged, “Go on, it won’t bite.”

Aziraphale opened the gift, and admired the soft fabrics, “Oh, it’s a scarf!”

Crowley frowned, “Two by the look of it.”

Aziraphale separated the two warm knitted scarves and wrapped the red one around Crowley, pulling him into an innocent kiss, smiling as Crowley squeaked before relaxing, “Happy new year.”

“Ngk,” Crowley murmured in annoyance before pulling Aziraphale closer and kissing him firmly.

“Oh! Sorry!”

“FUCK!” Crowley shouted while Aziraphale began to spontaneously combust, “Learn to knock, Device!”

_“Sorry!”_ Anathema cringed, shutting the door behind her, “You two should be more careful.”

“No shit!” Crowley nodded, “You damn near gave me a heart attack!”

“You are adorable though,” Anathema said smiling, “I got you both a present.”

“More treats?” Crowley teased, giggling as Aziraphale buried his blushing face in his hands.

“No, I think Aziraphale has that handled,” Anathema taunted, “Something you can both keep.”

Crowley took both presents and dug in his bag for a gift for the girl, “A small thank you.”

“Can I die now?” Aziraphale groaned, burying his burning face in his hands.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Anathema said with a smile and a wink, “Thank you for the gift, Crowley.”

Crowley barricaded the door with his desk as she left and turned to face Aziraphale, “Stop panicking, angel.”

“What did you get her?” Aziraphale asked, distracting himself.

“Just a snow globe,” Crowley shrugged, “Something generically Christmassy.”

Aziraphale sighed, “Sorry…”

Crowley crashed down on the bed beside Aziraphale, “Why are you apologising?”

“For panicking,” Aziraphale whined, “It’s not that I’m ashamed or anything…”

“You’re scared,” Crowley nodded, “It’s fine, angel. I haven’t come out to my parents either, I just care slightly less about whether they know or not. And I didn’t say anything suggestive to your mum. We talked about the painting I gave you, families, and your charitable nature. Nothing at all devious or suggestive, I promise.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale moaned, “I rather panicked when you both walked in…”

“Worlds colliding,” Crowley nodded, “I get it. Nothing worse than your different lives bleeding into one another. Like Harriet; she’s my doctor following an unpleasant incident, but she knows about my school life through Warlock, and she had that confrontation with my dad during the play. I felt like my life was imploding. But I just have to remind myself that she is my doctor, _and_ my friend, she did not tell my dad about the tests and all the other STI-related panics I get myself into. Warlock doesn’t know my dad, or my sister particularly, and certainly does not know about my sexual orientation or experience. She can’t tell anyone any more than your priest can. I will never break your trust, angel, but that doesn’t mean your feelings are wrong. You will always know yourself better than anyone and there is never anything to be ashamed of or sorry for when you are being honest with yourself.”

Aziraphale stared at him with hide ocean-blue eyes and glowed, “T-thank you,” Then his lips twisted into a teasing smile, “Practised that often, have you?”

“Shut up,” Crowley whined, shoving Aziraphale gently, “I’ve had to give a lot of pep-talks in my life. You’re not the first person I’ve met struggling with their sexuality. I was there when Dagon asked us not to use gendered pronouns, and when Bee told us they identified as male. We’re simply waiting for Hastur to come out as bisexual, but no one’s pushing him. We all struggle to accept ourselves and struggle even more to admit our truths to other people.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Aziraphale moaned, “What if I’m never ready?”

“This is not about me,” Crowley sighed, “I met up with this one girl once, and after a couple of drinks I realised she was gay. I didn’t push her to admit it or mock her, and I certainly didn’t have sex with her. We just talked, and three months later I got a text from her thanking me for helping her. She came out in her own time. Some people don’t tell their families, some people are private and honestly, sexuality is quite a private topic. I don’t want to know if someone is having sex, so knowing their sexuality is not important to me or anyone else. Being gay is not about dressing in rainbows and spending June in parades; it’s just a truth about you and what you are comfortable with. If you prefer that only your boyfriends know you like guys, then that’s fine.”

There was silence for a moment, heavy but safe, and Crowley slowly leaned back against his headboard and smiled as Aziraphale lay down beside him.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered, “May not be ready to tell the world just yet, but I love you.”

Crowley’s heart drummed painfully in his chest, “I love you too.”

He tightened his hold on Aziraphale and kissed his pale golden curls until Aziraphale turned his head and kissed him chastely until he parted his lips for him. They kissed leisurely until they were both flustered and gasping for air.

“Do you have any new year’s resolutions?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley groaned and snuggled beside Aziraphale on the narrow bed, “I don’t know really. Harriet says my new year’s resolution should be to quit smoking. I was thinking of perhaps attending all my classes and perhaps doing homework for a change.”

Aziraphale chuckled gently, “Well you’ll have to get up in the morning then.”

Crowley frowned, “On second thoughts, perhaps I’ll stick to the homework. What about you?”

“Work on my confidence perhaps,” Aziraphale offered softly.

“I’ve got one for you,” Crowley murmured, “You will not be bullied this year. Whoever it is can pick on someone else.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank, “How exactly can I even attempt to fulfil that?”

“Easy,” Crowley muttered, “They try to bully you and you stand up for yourself, tell a teacher, and I’ll break their nose.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested, “You’ll get expelled for that.”

“I don’t care,” He insisted, “Not like I won’t be able to see you; Lucien’s been sneaking into the school grounds for years. I want you _safe_, angel.”

“I know,” Aziraphale sighed, “We’ll see… just try not to get expelled?”

“Fine,” Crowley surrendered, he shifted up onto his side, cornering Aziraphale between himself and the wall, “I can’t promise I’ll be good though.”

They kissed, wrapped in each other’s arms, Crowley snuggled close to Aziraphale’s chest and basked in his warmth, “I think your mum likes me.”

Aziraphale chuckled gently and kissed his hair, “Of course she does, dear.”

“She’ll like me less when she finds out I corrupted her son,” Crowley teased, expecting Aziraphale to protest the ‘when’.

“You haven’t corrupted me, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly, “You’ve loved me, and no matter what, I will never regret loving you.”

Crowley whimpered and held him tighter, “Shut up.”

Aziraphale laughed, “Come on, dear, let’s get something to eat.”


	13. January Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley are back to their usual school routine, only now their dating. Aziraphale continues to struggle with accepting himself, and Crowley finds he's awfully good for a degenerate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloody hell, this was supposed to be in the previous chapter and is now spilling into a third. I could honestly write about these two idiots forever!!!
> 
> Warnings: talking about mental health that some reader may find triggering  
(Crowley is increasingly becoming me and I hope that if you are hurting Crowley/my words of wisdom can help - love you all and stay safe)

Aziraphale woke early, like usual, though getting out of bed without waking Crowley was harder since they started sharing a bed. Eventually, he wrangled himself free, stretched and began getting dressed, he was sleeping better with Crowley, waking up closer to six o’clock rather than four, but it was still too early for breakfast and waking Crowley before nine was a challenge. He dressed in his uniform, smiling as he affixed his gift from Anathema around his neck; she had given them each a pendant, Crowley’s gift was a silver and obsidian wing and Aziraphale’s a silver and opal wing. When put together, they formed a heart, but apart looked utterly innocent.

He sat down on the couch between their beds with a book in hand but found himself staring at Crowley, sprawled beneath the sheets of Aziraphale’s bed. He tried to read for over an hour before Crowley began to stir and whimper.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Aziraphale said softly, stroking his hair.

“Cold…” Crowley groaned, he reached out and grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and pulled him back onto the bed, “Too early.”

“Darling, it’s nearly eight,” Aziraphale protested, pulling Crowley into his arms and kissed his wild hair.

“Definitely too early,” Crowley grumbled, nestling against Aziraphale and trying to fall back into his dreams.

Aziraphale sighed let him drift for a while, “Come on dear, you need to get dressed.”

Crowley groaned and protested but eventually allowed himself to be pulled from Aziraphale’s warm bed and staggered towards the washbasin and brushed his teeth.

“Don’t forget your science homework,” Aziraphale reminded him softly as he smoothed out his blankets and made his bed.

“I did the homework,” Crowley mumbled, “What more do you want?”

“It doesn’t count if you don’t submit it, dear,” Aziraphale replied gently.

“Hm,” Crowley huffed, “Fine. I’m skipping Bible study though.”

“I know,” He replied with a knowing smile, “That and you ought to spend some time with your friends, they might get jealous.”

“Not as jealous as I am of your books, angel,” Crowley smirked, walking towards his closet and pulling out his school uniform for the day, “What day is it?”

“Wednesday usually follows Tuesday, dear,” Aziraphale teased, “Double science. I’ll see you at lunch and then we have double history.”

“Then an hour to spare and study,” Crowley nodded, “You’re adorable when you’re lost in your studies.”

Aziraphale blushed, “I’m sure the same could be said of you… if you studied that is.”

“You, cheeky bugger!”

Aziraphale laughed and watched as Crowley pulled his shoulder-length red hair into a messy bun, he found himself wondering if it was long enough to plait. Crowley caught his staring and smiled mischievously, “Enjoying the view?”

“Thinking you need to learn how to tie a Windsor knot, dear,” Aziraphale teased, “Come on.”

They walked down the corridor and out into the bitter January air towards the dining hall for breakfast. Crowley insisted Aziraphale have both a brioche and a croissant, while he helped himself to some toast and bitter coffee.

“What’s this?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale placed a small pill on his plate.

“You keep forgetting to take your medication,” Aziraphale said softly, “You didn’t even notice I had taken a box on Monday. I’ve read depression can be affected by the weather, and it is awfully miserable.”

“Thank you, angel,” Crowley said bitterly, taking the small pill and washing it down with his coffee. He held his chin in his hands as he watched Aziraphale finish his breakfast, utterly forgetting about his second slice of toast. Aziraphale blushed as the sleeves of Crowley’s blazer slipped and the watch on his left wrist and the leather bracelets on his right, which he had affixed his black wing onto, became visible to the world. Of course, logically only Aziraphale and Crowley knew the importance of both pieces of jewellery, and only Anathema knew about the innocent-looking obsidian wing, but there was something about his openness and the shared secret that made Aziraphale’s heart race.

“I should make my way to Bible study,” Aziraphale sighed, as he finished his tea.

Crowley pouted, “Fine, I’ll see at lunch before Harry’s class.”

“Mr Shadwell,” Aziraphale corrected, he now knew the Christian names of nearly every teacher in the school thanks to Crowley, though he had no idea how Crowley came to know so much about the staff; it was probably just his curiosity over the years, “Try not to get expelled before lunch.”

Crowley smiled, “I’ll try.”

Aziraphale collected his things and flashed Crowley a shy smile, before leaving the hall towards Bible study which was much like a tutor group Aziraphale had heard of in state schools.

“Right,” Mr Tyler said in his stern Scottish accent, forcing the class to be quiet, “Leviticus. Now can anyone tell me where we got to?”

“We just finished 17, sir,” A voice answered.

“Thank very much, Miss Michaels,” Mr Tylor said in a tone that was almost cynical. He cleared his throat and began reading, “_The Lord said to Moses, ‘Tell the people of Israel: I am your Lord of God. In the past you lived in Egypt, but you must not do what was done in that country’_…”

And so, he droned on, and Aziraphale waited for the inevitable, “…_You must not have sexual relations with your neighbour’s wife and make yourself unclean with her. You must not give your children to be sacrificed to Molech, because this would show that you do not respect your God. I am the Lord’_. Can anyone tell me about Molech?”

The class was silent.

“Anyone?” Mr Tylor asked bluntly, then surrendered, “Molech or Moloch was a Canaanite deity who demanded blood sacrifices of children.”

The class remained unmoved, most knew the Bible as well as Aziraphale, and the rest had heard it at least a dozen times even if they never really listened.

Mr Tylor cleared his throat again, eyeing the silent classroom with disdain, “_You must not have sexual relations with a man as you would a woman. This is a hateful sin_…”

_There it is_, Aziraphale thought to himself,_ My_ _hateful sin_.

“…_You must not have sexual relations with an animal,” _Mr Taylor continued,_ “and make yourself unclean with it. Also, a woman must not have sexual relations with an animal; it is not natural_.”

“Sir?” Half the class turned to the outspoken student, “There’s no mention of homosexual women? Did they not believe women could have homosexual attractions?”

Mr Taylor sighed, “Lust is a sin, Miss Waters, and therefore all sexual urges outside wedlock are sinful.”

“But God thought to ‘warn’ men of homosexual urges and not women?” Miss Waters continued.

“God created sex for procreation, Miss Waters,” Mr Taylor retorted, “Need I remind you that procreation is impossible with two persons of the same sex?”

“But love is not encouraged?” Miss Waters argued, and Aziraphale found himself smiling at her bold confidence, “What difference does it make if you love another adult of the same gender? The context of Leviticus is sex outside of _marriage_, incest, and bestiality, homosexual marriage is now permitted in many countries including this one. The Bible also tells us to throw rocks at people until they die, and that prostitutes are to be blamed for separating the family rather than the men you use them. The Bible tells us that rather than punishing the wrongdoer, you should punish their son, just like Canaan; it was his father who sinned, yet it was the _son_ who was punished for it. Can times not change?”

“It is not for us to judge God,” Mr Taylor responded, avoiding the question entirely, and the smile on Miss Water’s face suggested that she knew she had won her argument. Eventually, the bell rang and Aziraphale walked towards the food technology classrooms with a little more confidence.

* * *

Crowley left the dining hall after guzzling his second cup of coffee and headed out into the icy morning, tugging his crimson scarf around his neck. He trudged towards the pool house and struggled with his lighter, “Hey, Bee.”

Beatrice McFly looked up at him and grunted, taking a deep breath of their not-so-legal cigarette, “As much as it is fucking hilarious seeing you so happy, some of us are busy being depressed.”

“I mostly blame my medication,” Crowley shrugged, “Though a boyfriend doesn’t hurt.”

“_Boyfriend_ is it?” Bee barely suppressed a smile, “Wow, look at you, getting all cosy with a _good_ schoolboy. I guess that means Hastur owes Dagon twenty quid.”

“Please tell me you did not place bets on my love-life,” Crowley groaned.

Bee chuckled, “Maybe.”

“Hate you,” Crowley sighed, watching his breath and the smoke crystalize in the morning air, “How much did you win or lose?”

Bee shrugged, “Depends. I get twenty from Hastur who bet you wouldn’t make a move until February, but I’ll also get a tenner from Dagon if you fucked him on the first date. Ligur bet that you’d fuck him and move on, guess he owes _everyone_.”

Crowley rubbed his forehead, “Does it count if he fucked me?”

Bee chocked.

“How is it?” Bee asked cautiously, “Being in a relationship with your roommate? I _really_ don’t want to know about the sex.”

“Why?” Crowley teased, “Got your sights on Cassie Blackthorn?”

“No!” Bee protested, a little hastily, “I just… it’s dangerous, and yet something tells me you like the rush of it.”

Crowley shrugged, “Meh, I mean it’s terrifying sometimes, but mostly I like how disgustingly domestic it is sometimes. Yesterday I spent the evening curled up against him while he read.”

“Ew,” Bee teased, before sniggering, “How are you doing anyway. What with a boyfriend and some legal happy-pills, you seem… _down_. Like you’re resisting your meds.”

Crowley shrugged, “Just that time of year.”

Bee nodded and they stood there in silence, watching the sunrise and illuminate the clouds.

“Well isn’t this miserable?” Hastur interrupted, puffing on his cigarette, “Two depressed fucks staring gloomily at the sunrise? Next you’ll be writin’ poems.”

“Hey, Hastur,” Bee and Crowley mumbled glumly.

It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but Crowley’s mind was often too large for his brain. The holidays had been wonderful, and they had survived the last few days without being discovered, but like Aziraphale; he was worried. He kept thinking about what would happen if they were found out, if Aziraphale fell out of his first love, if Aziraphale left him.

It was stupid, Aziraphale crawled into his bed each night, or pouted while Crowley got into his pyjamas until Crowley wrapped his arm around his soft curves. Aziraphale was happy and never once implied that he was second-guessing their relationship; he was worried about being dragged out of the closet, he was worried about cruel teenagers, he feared the wrath of his Catholic teachers, and shaming his mother. Aziraphale loved him, and Crowley feared losing that more than anything.

_Anxiety sucks_, Crowley thought bitterly as he threw his cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it into the dirt, “I’ll see you lot later.”

“Really?” Hastur huffed, clearly put-out, “Where are you going?”

“Class,” Crowley smirked, grabbing his bag off the cold ground and started sauntering off towards the school. He turned, walking backwards as he added, “Got homework to hand in”

“Since when did you do homework?” Hastur shouted back.

“Since he got a _boyfriend,_” Bee teased. Crowley turned back just as Hastur’s face fell and turned sharply towards Bee. Crowley trudged within earshot of the main building just in time to hear the bell for class, he sauntered casually into the science block and fell heavily onto the stool at the back workbench as Mr Chalky began writing the class experiment for the day on the whiteboard.

“Today we’re burning fuel,” Mr Chalky hissed, not bothering to wait for the class to settle, “Anyone misbehaves with a Bunsen Burner or any other open flame, and you’ll _all_ spend the next two hours writing theory. Understand?”

Crowley half-listened as Mr Chalky explained which chemicals they would be burning and what the purpose of the experiment was; five chemicals, of equal quantity and weight, were to be burned for as long at it would take the water to reach 50 degrees. Whichever fuel took the least time and used the least amount of fuel to burn hot enough, would be the more efficient fuel. Crowley did not bother finding a partner for the experiment and collected the necessary equipment and set it up while the class erupted into loud chaos as they debated their partners and Mr Chalky walked around the room collecting homework.

“Guess I’m with you,” A classmate murmured quietly. Crowley glanced at the boy. He was skinny, skinnier than Crowley was these days, more bones than flesh. His hair was dark, greasy, and grown to a length so that he could hide most of his acne-covered face.

Crowley looked him over and nodded, “Alright, I’ll set up, measure everything up and set it on fire. You can take notes.”

The boy nodded but said nothing as he took out his workbook.

Crowley frowned, sensing the storm cloud almost hovering over his classmate, noticing the way he hunched over and avoided eye contact, “What’s your name.”

The boy seemed startled, “Um… Clarke. Alex Clarke.”

“Well, Alex,” Crowley said almost charmingly, “I’m Crowley. Don’t bother learning my first name.”

“Not friends, right?” The boy murmured gloomily.

“No,” Crowley said sternly, “Because I _hate_ it, and everyone I _like_ calls me Crowley.”

“Oh,” Alex stammered, a smile ghosting his lips, “Are you new here?”

“Nah!” Crowley laughed, “I just skip an awful lot of school. Truth be told I have a new… friend who is helping a lot.”

“Friend?” Alex asked curiously, clearly sensing Crowley’s hesitation, “Sorry, barely know each other. Overstepping. Sorry.”

“He apologises too much as well,” Crowley smirked, “So what’s your crime?”

Alex looked through his dark hair in confusion and Crowley realised his eyes were almost pure green, “What?”

“You’re quiet and shy,” Crowley sighed, “You’re extremely uncomfortable with your situation, and an outcast of some sort. I was just curious as to why you are hiding, or _what_ you are hiding. You don’t have to tell me though.”

There was a heavy silence for some time while Crowley carefully measured out the chemicals, they were going to burn

Alex gulped, “I tried to kill myself last term.”

Crowley nearly dropped the bottle of ethanol and steadied himself before looking at the boy.

“They say the devil is whispering in my ear,” Alex continued, “That if I would only accept God’s love, I wouldn’t want to rid myself of His gift.”

Crowley lowered himself slowly back onto his stool, thinking of his words carefully, “How?”

Alex looked uncomfortable, but something about the boy’s behaviour told Crowley that he desperately needed to talk to someone, even if it was a stranger in a science lab, “Hanging. Asphyxiation rather than a long drop.”

Crowley nodded slowly, “Yeah, I’m scared of heights, so the drop has always been quite terrifying.”

Alex’s mouth opened in surprise and then he looked almost guilty, “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No… but _you _do,” Crowley muttered sternly, “You approached me. You need to talk to someone, and clearly none of the teachers are listening. Crying for help is nothing to be ashamed of. You understand?”

He could almost see tears in Alex’s eyes as he finally met his gaze, and suddenly Crowley realised why Harriet cared so much. At fourteen, Crowley had been just a skinny, if not skinnier, and horrifically depressed. He had been starving himself, cutting himself, and been broken and betrayed by someone he thought he had loved. Crowley wanted to comfort him and realised he needed to give something in return.

“That _friend_, I mentioned, well he’s more than a friend really,” Crowley said slowly, “I don’t care much for genders when it comes to lovers, and sometimes that’s hard… and I’ve been in your shoes. I have scars, and pills that threaten to drown my emotions entirely.”

Alex lit up as if Crowley was the first person, he had ever met you had suffered from depression, “I’m not… what I mean is… I hate the way I look. I’m all skin and bones, I used to be fat, but being skinny doesn’t seem any better. I have no friends, no future, I- I’m alone.”

Crowley’s heart broke, “Start by seeing a doctor, a lot of them are arseholes, and the meds can be a little terrifying at first. Talking can help. Here.”

Crowley tore a corner out of his textbook and scribbled his name and number and the phone number of the counselling clinic Harriet had recommended him to, “My _friend_, is worried about the way he looks too, when we met he was making himself sick with diet pills. I used to starve myself, to the point where now I’m never hungry, I just eat a little when I’m told to. You are _not_ alone in this.”

“I guess it’s pretty obvious I don’t eat,” Alex chuckled, a broken and sad sound, “My mum keeps telling me that I should just ‘think myself happy’, as if that’s a solution.”

Crowley shrugged, “Part of it is how you think, part of it is experience and trauma; a fair bit of it is chemical. Some people with depression are just down in the dumps, and it’ll pass in time. Others have been damaged and abused, leaving them fragile and with long-lasting issues that need to be addressed. Others have a chemical imbalance in their brain, affecting serotonin and dopamine levels, at which point you need to take up sports and change your diet, or get some medication.”

“Which one are you?” Alex asked meekly.

Crowley frowned, “Chemical mostly, I think. But my parents divorce, being bullied in Primary School, and getting in with the wrong crowd probably didn’t help. And emotions come in waves. So, kind of all three. My friend, on the other hand, is almost entirely situational and experience. He’s getting bullied, but he’s too scared to tell anyone, including me, but he seems happy enough in himself.”

“I’m getting bullied,” Alex murmured.

Crowley shot him a sharp look, “Who?”

“Mostly Sandalphon,” Alex admitted, “He likes to hit me. Broke my arm last year.”

_“Shit!”_ Crowley hissed, struggling to keep his voice down, “Fucking _hell_, I was sharing a room with him last year! I keep getting threatened with expulsion, how the _fuck_ is he still allowed in this school. No, actually, that’s grievous bodily harm and he should be getting a criminal record. Fuck!”

Alex had the audacity to chuckle, “Well, I did tell Miss Zuigiber I fell down the stairs.”

Crowley was lost for words, “That isn’t the point. Jesus, he hits you again; call the fucking police.”

Alex rolled his eyes.

“You think I’m_ joking?”_ Crowley stressed, “Hell no! If teachers won’t listen, get the bloody police up here and make a statement. Sandalphon is eighteen now, he wouldn’t even be tried as a minor.”

“Why does Ms Godwin want to throw you out?” Alex asked ignoring the advice, and Crowley made a mental note to keep an eye on this kid.

“Smoking, drinking, truancy, and general bad behaviour,” Crowley admitted, turning his attentions back to setting up the experiment, “I get into a few fights. Even punched Sandalphon last year. Vandalised property, et cetera.”

“Are you friends with Lizzie?” Alex asked quietly.

Crowley frowned, thinking if he knew a ‘Lizzie’, ‘Liz’, or even an ‘Elizabeth’, “Who?”

“Lizzie Dagon,” Alex answered, “I went to the same primary school as her. We used to be friends.”

“Oh!” Crowley realised, then wondered if Dagon had ever told him their first name, “We call them Dagon. They identify as agender asexual, so lots of ‘they’s and ‘them’s.”

“Oh…” Alex thought about this for a moment, “I guess that makes sense. Sh- they, were always rather different to other girls.”

Crowley spotted a tone in that voice that made him feel awkward, “Yeah, but then you just said you hadn’t really been friends in over five years. People change. There are plenty of other girls out there.”

“I…” Alex tried protesting and then surrendered, “Yeah, guess my hormones are completely out of whack.”

“Hey, it’s just school,” Crowley shrugged, “You’re what? Sixteen? Seventeen? Under twenty anyway, you do honestly have the rest of your life in front of you. It’s fucking terrifying. It’s hard and stressful, and you’re going feel like you’re breaking. But you _won’t_ break, and you certainly don’t need a partner to have any, I don't know, _meaning_.”

“Says the guy with _friend_,” Alex teased.

“An accident,” Crowley retorted, “Honestly, it as a bloody accident.”

Alex laughed then, colour in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eye, “Yeah, alright. A _perfect_ little accident.”

“To be fair,” Crowley whispered, “I’m more nervous now than I was before.”

Alex frowned, but his mood was still brighter than it had been.

“I keep thinking about how depressed I’ll be when he leaves me,” Crowley admitted, realising than he was becoming increasingly more open with strangers than he ever had before; perhaps it was Aziraphale’s charitable influence.

“Oh,” Alex murmured, his brow furrowed as he thought through the predicament, “Guess you should figure out a way of being happier with yourself.”

Crowley glowered at him, “Rude! I’m giving _you_ the motivational talk.”

Alex sniggered and handed his scruffy homework to Mr Chalky, who then walked past Crowley.

“Um?” Crowley frowned, “Alli?”

“How many times, Mr Crowley,” His science teacher hissed, “My name is _‘Mr Chalky’_ to you. What do you want?”

“Don’t you want my homework?” Crowley answered, barely suppressing a smile as Mr Chalky’s face fell and someone sniggered.

“Sorry?” Mr Chalky stammered after a moment of silence, trying to translate the words into anything but ‘my homework’ tumbling out of Anthony J. Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley bit his lip and pulled out his essay on magnetic currents that was set over the Christmas holidays, “Homework. I think that’s what you’re collecting from everyone, isn’t it?”

The lab was comically silent, Crowley had no idea how far his reputation had reached and rather relished in everyone’s surprise. Mr Chalky accepted the essay, cautiously, as if expecting it to be a prank, and Crowley watched him as he glanced over the essay instead of turning to the next student and demanding their own essay, “Everything alright sir?”

“Y-yes,” Mr Chalky stammered, “Thank you, Crowley.”

Crowley turned back to Alex who was giggling to himself, “Right, where were we? Oh, yes! Setting things on fire!”

* * *

Aziraphale sat at their usual table and waited for Crowley to arrive, he made sure he picked up a sensibly sized lunch, despite still being terribly self-conscious about his weight, he knew Crowley would only chastise him for not looking after himself. He was regrettably putting on weight, but he felt slightly better. He smiled, against his better judgement, thinking about how much Crowley worried and fretted over him; it was rather sweet.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley greeted, sitting opposite him with a single sandwich and an apple, which was at least healthy, “How was food tech?”

“Meaning ‘did I bake you anything nice for our free period’?” Aziraphale replied pointedly, “I might have had some time to put some make some brownies for you.”

Crowley grinned, “Thank you, angel. I think I made a friend?”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked airily, ‘friend’ in Crowley’s vocabulary seemed akin to ‘vague acquaintance’ whom he could be civil with.

“Yeah,” Crowley frowned, “Some kid in my science class. He needed someone to talk to about his depression. Guess he assumed I was approachable.”

“How is he?” Aziraphale asked, his heart aching with concern for an utter stranger.

“Desperate,” Crowley answered after a pause, “I think he’s been suffering a long time, and people have actively ignored his cries for help. They practically told him off for attempting suicide.”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped, as a Catholic he had strict views on self-murder, but he would never_ blame_ someone for feeling desperate enough to try, “Oh dear, is there anything I can do?”

“Already gave him a number for a therapy clinic in Oxford,” Crowley grumbled, playing with his apple rather than eating it, “Actually, I have something to confess to you.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale did not like the sound of that but chased his thoughts away before they could tear him apart.

Crowley grimaced, “I may have told him that I was in a relationship with a person of the same gender. I didn’t use names, but I would not take a brain surgeon to figure out _who_.”

Aziraphale felt his body relax, he was worried he had ‘outed’ him. Aziraphale smiled bashfully, “Well at least he knows you’re spoken for.”

Crowley’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly, “He’s straight anyway. I am so sorry, Aziraphale, I wasn’t really thinking, but I felt he needed to know that I was shunned by the Catholics here too. Saying ‘I understand’ is awfully hollow when you’re trapped with your demons, it was only afterwards that I’d realised it wasn’t my secret to share.”

Aziraphale smiled gently, “Crowley, I don’t mind. It was said in confidence, and there’s plausible deniability. I might have said something similar if I were in your shoes.”

Crowley sighed and bit into his apple.

“What is that smell?” Aziraphale asked after a few moments.

“Alli had us burning fuels,” Crowley explained, “It’s probably the butanol.”

“It’s gross,” Aziraphale giggled, “Take a shower or something.”

“Only if you join me,” Crowley said alluringly.

“Not smelling like that,” Aziraphale retorted.

“You’re so mean,” Crowley pouted, folding his arms across his chest.

“Only because I love you, dear,” Aziraphale replied quietly. Crowley’s face reddened at his unexpected openness, which was exactly what Aziraphale wanted to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are hundreds of translations of the Bible in English alone, the quotes are from a copy I happen to own - your copy of the Bible may have been translated slightly different.


	14. A Little Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed by now that I am terrible at summaries. This is the third part of the 'filler' chapter that ended up being 3 chapters long. Enjoy!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Smut

Soft lamplight, leather chair, and rain tapping against the windows. Dusty old books, aged and the smell of vanilla and almonds ever time Aziraphale turned a page reverently. This was where he belonged, Crowley thought to himself, surrounded by books to be read and adored, glowing in the dim library. He took off his sunglasses and continued sketching, he was supposed to be working on his geography coursework, but Aziraphale was far too stunning to ignore and Crowley wanted to preserve the moment.

“You know,” Aziraphale said slowly, not looking up from the book he was rereading for his upcoming English literature exam, “That coursework is not going to write itself.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and set aside his half-finished sketch and looked back over his coursework on coastal landscapes. Crowley was finishing up his notes on attrition when he spotted Aziraphale look up suddenly, he followed his line of sight to find Ms Godwin standing behind him staring at them.

“Can we help you with something?” Crowley asked politely, setting down his workbook.

Ms Godwin frowned slightly, “What are you two up to?”

“I’m revising,” Aziraphale answered, returning to his book, “He keeps distracting himself from his coursework.”

“Oi! Cheeky,” Crowley retorted, “Plan’s done, and my notes are almost done. Just writing left.”

“So just the important part?” Aziraphale teased.

“You know this isn’t due ‘till February, right?” Crowley chuckled.

"You know it's February is two weeks, right?" Aziraphale retorted.

“You’re doing homework?” Ms Godwin breathed, clearly disbelieving her own eyes.

“No, miss,” Crowley replied with an exasperated sigh, “This is coursework; fifty per cent of this year’s examinations. It’s Fell pretending to study.”

“Hey!” Aziraphale frowned.

“Right,” Ms Godwin murmured, “Good.”

Crowley watched her walk away and then started laughing, “Did you see her _face?”_

“Rather hard to miss,” Aziraphale chuckled, “I thought she’d seen a ghost at first.”

“Nah,” Crowley smirked, picking up his sketchbook again, “Me studying is far more terrifying.”

“Oh, so it’s you two making all the noise,” The librarian said gently.

“Sorry, Deirdre,” Aziraphale said meekly, “We’ll be quiet.”

The woman gave him a gentle smile, “Good to finally meet you, at last, Mr Crowley, perhaps some of your other friends might consider using the library for their studies?”

“I’m afraid, they’d only use you charming library for dubious activities,” Crowley replied gently, he returned her gentle smile and watched her leave, he turned to Aziraphale and considered him curiously, “Deirdre?”

“She’s friends with my mother,” Aziraphale replied, then met his gaze, “Wait. Did you not know her name?”

Crowley grinned, “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale contemplated this and then smiled to himself, “You do know she’s Adam’s mother though, don’t you?”

Crowley grinned, “I thought I was the nosey one? And no, so she’s Deirdre Young?”

“Mhm,” Aziraphale nodded, “Come on, dear, we’ll be late for our study session.”

“We’ve been studying for the past _hour_,” Crowley protested, but he shoved a brownie into his mouth and collected his things regardless.

“We need to work on your history homework,” Aziraphale mused as he packed his books and checked a further three out of the library.

“It’s weird studying the beginning of the Church of England from a Catholic viewpoint,” Crowley murmured, “I mean the national religion is the Church of England, but Harry wants an essay saying how evil Henry VIII was and that the Church was treated unfairly.”

“Well, it was disrespectful to God,” Aziraphale protested, but he did not want to discourage Crowley.

“Yeah, but the Church was taking the piss,” Crowley protested as they left the library and headed to the hall, “Erasmus had faith, but he wrote an awful lot about the degenerate state of the Catholic Church. The King is supposedly chosen by God to rule.”

“So, are you suggesting, God wanted the Church to separate?” Aziraphale mused.

“No…” Crowley groaned, “To be honest Henry just needed another wife who hadn’t gone through the menopause.”

“Had she?”

“Angel, she was _forty-eight_,” Crowley argued, “And due to poor health, women usually became infertile earlier in life than they do now. There’re reasons why they used to marry off girls as soon as they were biologically ready. Although, personally I think twelve is ridiculous.”

“But Henry rejected the faith,” Aziraphale countered.

“Technically, he rejected foreign authority,” Crowley clarified, “Henry kept the faith until he died, even a King is supposed to rule under God, but really, he was ruling under bishops and a foreign pope.”

“So, you think he was justified?”

Crowley hesitated, and frowned, “No… I think Henry was insecure. He was the second son, the French kept insisting England belonged to them, his father won the War of the Roses dubiously; the Tudor dynasty was always going to be fragile. His wife was too old to bear children, and after twenty-four years of marriage, he had only one daughter to show for it. I think he was scared.”

Aziraphale contemplated this and walked into the study hall. He hesitated, eyeing the room full of sixth-form students, struggling to control his nerves.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley said softly, “I need help with my essay.”

They found a quiet corner and took out their books, Crowley took a laptop out and began logging into the school network to access his essay. Aziraphale watched his curiously, bewitched by the way Crowley retied his hair and held his pen between his teeth. He wanted to kiss him. For a moment he almost forgot his was in a hall full of his classmates and stared dreamily as the redhead settled and began typing away at his essay. Crowley slowed and looked through his lashes at Aziraphale once he realised his boyfriend was staring. Aziraphale blushed and averted his gaze before his ocean-blue eyes fluttered back to Crowley’s.

Crowley smiled, “Come here, I need help with my gramma. Either that or my computer is set to American-English again.”

Aziraphale smiled and moved to the other side of the table and sat beside Crowley, reading through his essay and trying not to blush as Crowley discretely took his hand in his own beneath the table.

* * *

Aziraphale walked back into their room to find Crowley sprawled across the couch, drawing. He smiled fondly, loving the way his red hair fell in lazy curls and his pale brown eyes glistened in the soft lamplight. Crowley’s eyes turned towards the door and Aziraphale blushed as Crowley smiled, “Hey, angel. You should have told me you were having a shower. I would have joined you.”

Aziraphale felt his face redden, rubbing his towel over his wet, pale curls, “Well, we wouldn’t have been very discrete. Apparently, someone has been placing buckets of paint above doors.”

Crowley frowned, “If I had to guess, I’d say Hastur. I usually just put buckets of ice-water over doors. That’s just a waste of good paint.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scalded.

“I haven’t done that in since year _eight_, angel,” Crowley giggled, “And no one got hurt. Of course, that’s exactly how Ms Godwin knows it’s me.”

Aziraphale shrugged off his blazer, “Are you all terribly different in your forms of mischief?”

“Harmless mischief is really my forte,” Crowley explained, “Fights and property damage are more Ligur’s thing, and Hastur likes making a mess. Dagon usually spreads nasty rumours and knows nearly everyone’s dirty secret; they don’t consider homosexuality as much a dirty secret though, so don’t worry. Bee is… well, Bee; Prince of Thieves. They’re always stealing stuff; food, clothes, money, jewellery.”

Aziraphale pulled off his school jumper, and thought about this, “So… two years ago, when the computers glitched and everyone's profiles were riddled with inappropriate images, videos and audio files; that was you?”

Crowley shied away and grinned, “Oops.”

Aziraphale laughed, and sat down on Crowley’s bed, “How did you manage that?”

Crowley shrugged, “The network’s not hard to hack, and all the porn was taken from profiles already on the network and redistributed. Mrs Tracy has quite a stash saved on her profile.”

Aziraphale grimaced, “I didn’t need to know that, dear.”

Crowley laughed and leisurely got up from the couch and sat on the bed beside Aziraphale, “What did you get? I vaguely remember setting everyone’s desktop to some random pornography still, what did you get?”

Aziraphale frowned and blushed, “I can’t recall.”

“I know when you’re lying, angel,” Crowley retorted, a sinful smirk playing across his face.

Aziraphale sighed, “At the time, I feared it was a personal attack. Wasn’t until later I realised everyone was affected.”

“Ah,” Crowley nodded, realising the type of content he was referring to, “Nah, utterly random. It took a couple of hours _without_ personalising nearly two thousand network profiles.”

“Why?” Aziraphale asked suddenly, “Why hack the school network to begin with?”

“Bored,” Crowley shrugged, “And Miss Loquacious-Hodges said I was failing IT, so I decided to hack the system.”

“And failed IT,” Aziraphale chuckled knowingly.

“Yeah, well, it was fun,” Crowley laughed, “And no one traced it back to me. Although, Ms Godwin suspected, but any attempt to find the source of the hack would have led to her office computer.”

“You broke into her office at three in the morning?”

“How on earth do you know I was there at three o’clock?” Crowley retorted, then relaxed, “You were awake at the time.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Aziraphale stated flatly; in truth, it had been the first time Gabriel had molested him and he had spent most of the night crying. He could not return to his room in that state, so he spent the night in the library and eventually decided to search the internet for any cures for his affliction when the computer crashed and suddenly his desktop was displaying two men rather exposed and intimate.

Crowley looked at him curiously, “I worried you, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted, after the system was hacked, he had cried for a few more hours after that, but come morning, he was rather relieved to find everyone else was having similar issues.

“Sorry,” Crowley muttered, “I promise it wasn’t personal. You could have got anything; dick-pics, lesbians, straights, boobs, so on. I only personalised my friends’ accounts.”

“I know,” Aziraphale smiled, “The following morning I knew it wasn’t personal, I just panicked a little.”

“Sorry, angel,” Crowley whispered, pulling him into his arms, “I never want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Aziraphale whispered, kissing Crowley’s cheek, “But you didn’t know me then.”

Crowley purred as he pushed them down onto his bed, “I wish I did.”

Crowley leaned down and gently sucked Aziraphale’s bottom lip, Aziraphale moaned into the kiss and ran his fingers through Crowley’s fiery curls, pulling him closer. Crowley shifted slightly, moving one of his legs between Aziraphale and gently pushed their bodies together.

“You’re beautiful,” Crowley gasped, littering Aziraphale’s jaw and neck with delicate kisses before nibbling his skin with sharp teeth.

Aziraphale gasped and pulled his hair gently, “Crowley…”

Crowley nibbled and kissed at his neck, gently rolling his pelvis so that his aching erection rubbed against Aziraphale’s hip. His hands wandered, caressing and squeezing his flesh as he slowly traced his way down Aziraphale’s body to find he was straining against his trousers.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley palmed his cock gently.

“Hush, angel,” Crowley whispered, “We need to be quiet.”

Aziraphale’s eyes opened in panic, as if only just remembering that they were in their school dormitory with their names on the door, rather than anonymous in a London hotel room, “Oh dear.”

“Relax, angel,” Crowley hushed, kissing Aziraphale’s neck and cheeks, “I’ve got you. We’ll be fine. You just need to stay quiet.”

He was not entirely convinced, but certainly did not want Crowley to stop. He nodded, and Crowley claimed his mouth again as he resumed palming his erection and thrusting against his hip. Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s school tie loose before unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt, he kissed Aziraphale’s neck softly and then nibbled and sucked at his shoulder until he left a mark where it wouldn’t be seen.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale groaned quietly, his own hips pushing against Crowley’s movements, “Please…”

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley whispered.

“You.”

Crowley chuckled, “You already have me. What would you like me to do?”

“Me.” Aziraphale gasped, clutching desperately at Crowley. They had not attempted sex since their date in London, the kissed and blew each other off, and snuggled in bed, but Crowley did not push and Aziraphale had not asked.

Crowley bit his lip and squeezed Aziraphale’s cock gently causing him to buck and squirm, “Promise to be quiet?”

Aziraphale nodded frantically and Crowley grinned.

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” Crowley whispered and nibbled his ear lobe before reaching for his bedside table and pulling out a small bottle of lubricant and a condom out of habit, “Get undressed.”

“Undress me,” Aziraphale whined and suddenly Crowley’s hands were all over him. Crowley muttered quiet affections as he unbuttoned and discarded Aziraphale’s clothing, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin, “I love you.”

Crowley smiled against his belly, pressing kissing against the soft pale skin, “I love you too, angel.”

He moved further down the bed and undid Aziraphale’s belt and trousers before pulling them off. He stood at the end of the bed, admiring the way Aziraphale’s pale skin blushed before stripping off his own clothes as Aziraphale stared at him hungrily. He gently nudged Aziraphale’s legs apart and knelt on the bed before placing open-mouthed kisses against Aziraphale’s cock through the soft fabric of his blue boxers.

“Fuck,” Aziraphale gasped, biting his lip and tanging his fingers into Crowley’s hair.

Crowley smirked and gently removed Aziraphale’s underwear, lightly caressing Aziraphale’s legs as he moved back onto the bed, “Angel?”

“Mhm?” He moaned, breathing heavily.

Crowley leaned forward and kissed his thighs, “Angel?”

“Yes?” Aziraphale gasped, his exposed cock twitched against his belly.

“We don’t have to do this,” Crowley whispered, “Or this way if you’re not ready. Just tell me what you want.”

Aziraphale leaned on his elbows to look at the man kneeling between his legs and frowned slightly, which looked rather silly when he was so flustered, “Crowley, I want you. I will write it down if you need me to.”

Crowley flashed him a devilish smile, “Just tell if it all gets too much.”

He leaned back down and kissed his hips and belly. He heard Aziraphale fall back heavily on the bed and moan with want. Crowley smiled and delicately placed a kiss at the base of Aziraphale’s cock and smiled as the blond shuddered and repressed a gasp. Crowley ran his fingers lightly up Aziraphale’s leg as he slowly kissed Aziraphale’s cock, relishing in every involuntary movement and the stifled gasps and groans escaping his angel. He reached the head of Aziraphale’s cock and licked the pre-cum from the slit, delighted with the strangled cry that escaped Aziraphale’s lips.

“Angel, you need to stay quiet,” Crowley teased, shortly before licking the length of Aziraphale and watching him shudder and squirm with the effort of staying quiet. Aziraphale was panting and gripping at the sheets, when Crowley took him into his mouth and Aziraphale made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Fuck…” Aziraphale groaned, struggling to calm his breathing, “Crowley…”

Crowley slowly sucked him, working his tongue and throat around him, careful not to move too fast. He eventually released Aziraphale with a wet _pop_, and smirked as he sat back and admired the quivering mess that was his boyfriend, “Are you alright, angel?”

“Uhhuh… bastard…” Aziraphale whimpered, with a lazy smile.

Crowley chuckled and crawled up the narrow bed and kissed him hungrily, he snatched the lubricant off the bedside table and kissed his way back down the bed. He guided Aziraphale’s knees over his shoulders and kissed the insides of his thighs, “Do you trust me, angel?”

Aziraphale moaned and nodded frantically.

He kissed the join between Aziraphale’s thigh and groin, nuzzling against his warm cock, “Do you want me, angel?”

Aziraphale whimpered and his fingers blindly tangled into Crowley’s long red hair.

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s cock and balls, and kissed his perineum, “Do you love me, angel?”

“Yes…” Aziraphale moaned, “Crowley, please.”

Crowley shivered, despite knowing they needed to be quiet, he loved to hear his angel, “Good boy.”

He kissed Aziraphale’s arsehole, rubbing his nose against Aziraphale’s balls, wetting him before pushing his tongue against his entrance. Aziraphale’s breath hitched and relaxed as Crowley’s tongue breached him.

“Ah!" Aziraphale squeaked, pulling Crowley’s hair sharply.

Crowley sat up abruptly, “Are you okay?”

Aziraphale whimpered, “Why’d you stop?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and returned his mouth to Aziraphale’s groin and returned to his arse. He watched Aziraphale intently, knowing all too well that although he was more experienced than Aziraphale, his experience was very limited; he had received anal oral only once, but never reciprocated, he had eaten a girl once or twice and sucked a few protected dicks. Mostly his experience involved lubed fingers and condoms, but something told him Aziraphale needed gentler hands for his first time. He could feel Aziraphale’s muscles rippling as they tensed and relaxed, his fingers tugging at his hair and the sheets. Crowley relished in every twitch of Aziraphale’s cock as his tongue changed angle inside him.

“Crowley… _oh_,” Aziraphale gasped, trying desperately to stay quiet.

Crowley kissed his plush hips, fumbling with the lube, “Are you alright, angel?”

He nodded, then opened his dilated eyes and smiled down at Crowley between his legs, “Yes.”

“Good,” Crowley whispered, kissing his belly, “If it becomes too painful, or if I’m going too fast; tell me.”

Another nod.

Crowley moistened his fingers and Aziraphale’s entrance.

“That’s cold,” Aziraphale giggled.

“Sorry,” Crowley whispered, he rubbed the lube over his boyfriend, teasing his entrance, pressing his thumb against his perineum, waiting until Aziraphale was relaxed and desperate. Then he took Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth as he pushed a finger inside.

“Fu-_fuck_,” Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley remembered his first time; rushed fingers with not enough lube and hard thrusts which were too tough for the fourteen-year-old virgin. Crowley enjoyed sex on the rough side, but trust and consideration were things that he had struggled to find in his lovers, which was usually why he insisted on doing the fucking rather than being fucked. Aziraphale was different though, everything about him was delightfully different and surprisingly perfect, and he had to do this right. He set a slow pace, sucking Aziraphale’s cock and pumping his finger inside his warmth at the same pace. He thought to their first time together and released Aziraphale’s cock and placed open wet kisses on Aziraphale’s belly as he suddenly pushed in a second finger.

“Oh, yes… Crowley- _ah!”_ Aziraphale shuddered, his hips bucking.

Crowley smiled, and twisted his fingers inside him, watching as his breathing became laboured and shallow and his body shuddered at the new sensations, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Aziraphale gasped, “Ah! Crowley…”

“Shh,” Crowley cooed, “You're doing so well, angel, but we’ve got to stay quiet.”

At that he fumbled with the bottle of lubricant, squirting over Aziraphale’s cock and balls, letting gravity guide it to his arse before pushing a third finger inside.

_“Ah!”_ Aziraphale cried, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Crowley froze, “You okay?”

“Oh, yes…” Aziraphale groaned, almost a growl, which had Crowley’s blood racing and his spine tingling.

“Would you like me to gag you?” Crowley teased as he began moving his fingers again. Aziraphale’ reaction was not disapproval or embarrassment as Crowley had anticipated, but rather confident and almost daring as he stared at Crowley with hazy blue eyes. Crowley tilted his head and smirked, squirrelling that wonderful piece of information away for later.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale groaned, his breath was evening out, short and heavy, but he was relaxed.

“Are you ready for me, angel?” Crowley whispered nibbling at his hip rubbing his erection against the mattress.

“Yes. Crowley, please…” Aziraphale gasped, his hips jerked as Crowley pushed against his prostate, “Oh! _Please_…”

“Promise to be quiet?” Crowley hissed, crawling up to take Aziraphale’s nipple between his teeth.

“Fuck,” Aziraphale shuddered, “Yes, _yes_. I promise. Please.”

“Not very quiet, are you?” Crowley teased, moving further up Aziraphale’s body to kissing his collarbone and neck, leaving marks only where they would not be seen, “I love you, angel.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes, and stared at Crowley hazily, “I love you, Crowley.”

Crowley snatched the condom off his bedside table and ripped open the packet. Aziraphale was too much of a mess to notice, but Aziraphale had just had a shower and a condom would minimise the mess they were going to make and be much smoother inside him. Crowley thrust his fist over himself with some lubricant and kissed Aziraphale deeply as he aligned himself, “Angel?”

Aziraphale moaned in reply and hitched his legs over Crowley’s narrow hips. Crowley smiled and pushed against Aziraphale’s entrance. He groaned, “Angel, you need to relax.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale gasped, loosening his grip on Crowley’s hair, “I need you, please.”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hip and pushed. Aziraphale gasped as he was breached, and Crowley grabbed his flagging cock and thrust over him. Aziraphale shuddered, falling apart with the two conflicting sensations.

“Fuck,” Crowley gasped as the head of his cock slotted inside Aziraphale. He was tight and perfect, and Crowley just wanted to chase their pleasure, but Aziraphale needed him to be slow and careful. He waited for Aziraphale to relax, slowly rubbing his cock to keep his pleasure burning, “Are you alright, angel?”

Aziraphale opened his eyes and pulled Crowley down and kissed him, “Yes. Crowley, please, I love you.”

He pushed a little more and stopped when Aziraphale winced, he pulled out slightly and pushed slowly back inside. Aziraphale’s soft warmth stretched to accommodate him, and after a few gentle pushes, Crowley was able to push himself fully inside.

Aziraphale tightened his grip and groaned, “Daringly, I promise I’ll be quiet.”

Crowley smiled and buried his face at the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. He pulled back and thrust forward into him. Aziraphale gasped and tightened his hold. Crowley thrust and again and shuddered as Aziraphale moaned for more, “Yes!”

“Shh,” Crowley chuckled, before claiming Aziraphale’s soft pink lips. Aziraphale groaned into his mouth and moved against Crowley who began setting a gentle pace, “God you’re perfect.”

Aziraphale whimpered, “I love you.”

“I know,” Crowley whispered, kissing every inch of Aziraphale he could reach as he built momentum. Aziraphale cried out as they shifted on the bed, and Crowley’s head spun as Aziraphale tightened around him.

He took a moment for his head to clear before realising Aziraphale was speaking to him, “Crowley, darling, move, please. I need you.”

Crowley thrust inside him a little too firmly and claimed his mouth with his, attempting to silence his cries. Aziraphale pulled at his hair and moved with Crowley’s frantic thrusts.

“A-Ah!” He groaned, “Crowley, _oh_. Fuck, please.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Crowley hissed, nibbling his earlobe and thrusting harder.

“Ah!”

“Shh!” Crowley hissed, “Fuck, I’m close.”

Aziraphale simple nodded and moaned, pulling Crowley back to his lips. Their kiss fell apart as they panted and whimpered against one another.

“I love you. I love you,” Crowley groaned, his movements becoming desperate and erratic, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, falling apart beneath him, “You’re perfect.”

“Come with me,” Crowley whimpered, reach down between them and wrapping his fingers around Aziraphale’s cock, “Come with me.”

Aziraphale grabbed his mouth, but it barely disguised the sound as he came hard into Crowley’s fist. He tightened perfectly and Crowley stuttered and bit Aziraphale’s shoulder as he came into the condom. They lay there panting as they came down. Crowley kissed the marks his teeth made and licked the salty sweat on Aziraphale’s skin.

“I wasn’t very quiet, was I?” Aziraphale murmured breathlessly.

Crowley glanced at the barricaded door, “Quiet enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a plot point and will be difficult for some readers. Just letting you know now. Not sure if the next chapter will be ready before Christmas or not. So, just in case, I will you wish you all happy holidays.


	15. Archangelnemesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds out.
> 
> Warning: Sexual assault, mild violence, homophobic language

**Arch <strike>angel</strike> nemesis**

Crowley woke suddenly as the door into their room collided with his desk. He looked at the door as whoever was on the other side shut the door again and walked away. Frowning, he nestled against Aziraphale who was sleeping deeply and allowed his steady breathing to lull him back to sleep.

“Crowley.”

He groaned, clinging to sleep, “No.”

He felt light kisses on his face, “Crowley, you need to get up.”

“Noooo,” He whined, before making a whimpering sound as his body began to wake up, “Why? It’s Friday. I don’ have classes ‘til this afternoon.”

“True,” Aziraphale allowed, he was dressed in his grey uniform which was so dark and dull, that his pale face and white-gold curls appeared to glow, “But you have a meeting with Ms Godwin regarding your school achievement this morning.”

“Pretty,” Crowley murmured.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale questioned, but he clearly heard the word as his pale face began to glow with a delicate pink blush.

“You’re pretty,” Crowley whispered.

“Shut up and get dressed,” Aziraphale whispered, pecking him on the cheek, “You’ll be late.”

Crowley moaned and complained as he dressed, fully aware that Aziraphale was watching him. He pulled on his shirt and suddenly Aziraphale was running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. He purred into the feeling and Aziraphale kissed his neck, “It’s almost long enough to plait.”

“Go on then,” Crowley whispered, shivering as Aziraphale fumbled with his hair. His hands were gentle and warm. He brushed Crowley’s hair until it was soft and smooth, before attempting to plait it.

After a short while, Aziraphale kissed his hair, “Can I have a hairband, please?”

Crowley made a contented sound, before handing Aziraphale a black hairband from his desk. Aziraphale tied the end of the plait and kissed his neck, “You’re going to be late.”

“Don’t care,” Crowley moaned.

“I’ll care when you get expelled,” Aziraphale whined, “Come on, I have some books to return to the library.”

Crowley stole a kiss before shifting his desk and walking out into the corridor. Outside, it was a grey, wet, February morning. They walked in silence, and Crowley smirked as he watched Aziraphale fuss with his collar, “Relax, angel. They’re not visible.”

Aziraphale scowled, “I asked you not give me any more… um…”

“They’re called _hickies_, angel,” Crowley whispered, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

Aziraphale looked annoyed, but the coy smile gave his feelings away, “I’ll probably be in the library this morning, although I do need to drop off my food-tech coursework first.”

“I’ll see you later in the library then,” Crowley whispered, “Might be a little late, depends on if I need a fag.”

“You should consider quitting,” Aziraphale retorted disapprovingly.

“I will when school stops stressing me out,” Crowley replied, as he turned on his heels and walked towards Ms Godwin’s office while Aziraphale continued walking towards the food-technology kitchens. Crowley considered barging into her office in his usual loud and obnoxious fashion but considering this was a 'behaviour and academic performance' review, he decided it would safer not to. He knocked and waited.

“Come in,” a voice called.

Crowley poked his head inside, “We have a meeting, miss?”

Ms Godwin looked up and considered him, “Indeed. Please sit, Mr Crowley.”

Crowley sat opposite her and waiting for her to begin. She appeared to finish an email, before looking back at him with suspicion, “I’m not going to lie to you Anthony, I thought you were not going to make it to Halloween this year. And yet here we are, February, and your teachers are reporting that you’re doing well, your grades are improving, and you’re attending nearly every class.”

Crowley frowned, “Why do I feel an accusation coming on?”

Ms Godwin leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk, “I’m not sure what’s changed. You and Mr Fell appear to be rather good friends, which is… surprising. I admit, I had hoped you would be civil. Sandalphon was, in hindsight, too different and far too conflicting. I guess what I’m trying to say, is I knew you wouldn’t _clash_ with Mr Fell, but I’m… surprised that you appear to be getting along so well.”

Crowley’s mind fluttered between _‘Sandalphon’s a bully, Aziraphale’s my boyfriend, what are you suggesting?’_, in the space of several seconds, “We found mutual ground; he has an eating disorder, which I’ve been helping him recover from. He’s alright.”

_I hadn’t realised I hadn’t experienced love until I met him_, he thought to himself as Ms Godwin contemplated his words.

“Mrs Young mentioned that you believe Mr Fell is being bullied,” Ms Godwin said carefully, “I do not deny that bullying occurs in this school, I am not a fool, but I can’t stop it unless I know who is doing the bullying.”

“I’d like to know too,” Crowley sighed, “He doesn’t trust me enough. All I know is that it’s not one of my… associates, they’d never even heard of him before.” He hated lying, but Aziraphale didn’t trust him with the truth and that hurt, and it worked to deter Ms Godwin from even coming close to guessing the true extent of their relationship.

Ms Godwin nodded, “It was one of the things told Mr Fell about you; that you weren’t known for being a bully.”

Crowley fought back a smile, “You told him I was a pain in the arse, right?”

Ms Godwin sucked her teeth, “I thought that fair warning was in order. I have no idea how he managed to persuade you into his play though.”

Crowley did smile, “Actually, he just asked me to paint the sets. He offered me a script to read, just in case I would be interested.”

“I have to say, Aziraphale has been a very good influence on you,” Ms Godwin commented, still considering Crowley as if trying to figure something out, “Although your grades in Geography are not as good as they should be at this time of year.”

Crowley shrugged and leaned back, “Geography’s not really a priority at the moment; I’m good at science, art comes naturally, and I like history. Geography’s just… there.”

“Hm,” Ms Godwin pondered this, “What do you intend to do? After school, I mean.”

_Scotland_, Crowley thought instantly, _rent a flat with my boyfriend and sketch him while he studies_. Instead, he sighed nonchalantly, “Not sure really. I don’t have intentions on going to university; can’t afford it and my dad won’t do the paperwork for the bursaries. Probably just get a job and work from there.”

“What sort of job would you like to do?” Ms Godwin probed, clearly, this was something she wanted to discuss this with him.

“I like painting, but it’s not an income,” Crowley mused, “Probably retail… dunno really. Do many people have plans for their life?”

Ms Godwin thought about this, “Alright, I understand academia is not really your thing, but I’m glad you seem to be finally settling in.”

There was a moment of silence, “Is that everything, miss?”

“For now,” Ms Godwin allowed, “Oh, before you leave; paint balanced on doors. Was that you?”

Crowley chuckled, “No, I’m artistic remember. I’d ask Hastur personally.”

“Thank you,” Ms Godwin nodded and returned to her computer screen.

Crowley hesitated at the door, “A kid in my science class mentioned that he was getting bullied.”

Ms Godwin looked up, “Oh?”

“He said Sandalphon broke his arm,” Crowley offered cautiously, “I have no evidence, only the word of a kid I don’t really know, but I thought you ought to know.”

Ms Godwin frowned and thought about this, and scribbled something down in her notebook, “Thank you, Crowley, I’ll look into this.”

Crowley nodded and left her to her thoughts.

* * *

Aziraphale walked into the kitchens with his coursework and looked for Mr Sable. At first, the classroom appeared empty, so Aziraphale approached the desk and set his portfolio on the desk for his teacher to find. He hesitated, distracted by the chart regarding a new experimental diet food call CHOW. He was curious, as much as Crowley appeared to adore him, he was still self-conscious regarding his weight, however, one look at the preliminary side-effects quickly eradicated all temptation Aziraphale had for it.

He strolled leisurely towards the library, contemplating which books he would like to read next when he became aware of feet walking briskly behind him. _Breathe_, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Crowley whispered in his mind, _just breathe_. It was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous, he lived in a school with over a thousand other students, of course, there would be people walking behind him, closely. Suddenly a rough hand grabbed him and shoved him into the toilets which were closed due to Ligur smashing the windows last week.

“Ow!” Aziraphale squeaked, picking himself off the floor and realising he had dropped his bag at some point during the abrupt attack but was roughly pulled to his feet and his face was shoved up against the wall, unable to see his attacker. He shook, failing to breath and his heart drumming uncontrollably.

“Now be a good boy and stay quiet,” Gabriel growled into his ear.

Aziraphale panicked and struggled against him, “No! Get off me! Help!”

The pain was rather surprising. Gabriel made a point on never actually harming Aziraphale, any bruises could be used as evidence, but then Aziraphale had never fought back so much. He was always too terrified and timid, but he had Crowley now, and he would not and could not allow Gabriel to continue tormenting him, even if he could not bring himself to tell the teachers or even Crowley who was ‘bullying’ him.

“What did I say about staying quiet?” Gabriel spat at him, shoving him roughly against the wall and grabbing his collar, “Stay quiet and I won’t hit you again.”

Aziraphale shuddered, tears picking at his eyes without permission. Gabriel pulled at his collar harder, almost choking Aziraphale, while another hand fumbled with Aziraphale's belt. He laughed cruelly as some of the hickies on his neck became visible, “Oh, my God. You disgusting little faggot. You’ve gone and got yourself buggered like the sick little gay you are.”

Laughing was the last thing Aziraphale could take, and he summoned every ounce of courage he could find, “Says the _gay_ undoing my _belt_.”

Gabriel’s face hardened, and he struck Aziraphale again, his fist collided with Aziraphale’s jaw, and his head cracked against the wall. Gabriel shoved him around and shoved his hand down Aziraphale’s trousers, and squeezed his cock painfully. Aziraphale’s head was throbbing, and he began hitting Gabriel feebly. His vision returned in time to see someone swing his own satchel full of heavy books, at speed against Gabriel’s head. Gabriel fell to the floor and someone grabbed Aziraphale, pulling him out of the disused toilets. He was shoved against the wall outside and struggled to focus on Crowley fixing his dishevelled clothes. He was grim and silent, and it took Aziraphale a moment to realise tears were obscuring his vision.

“Come on,” Crowley said stiffly, before dragged Aziraphale down the corridor. He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he care. He was with Crowley and that meant he was safe. Suddenly Crowley shoved him through a door.

“Anthony, we’ve talked about this,” someone protested.

“Judith, we need to talk about Gabriel!” Aziraphale stared at Crowley, he had never seen him angry before, and it was terrifying to behold.

Ms Godwin sighed, “Excuse us, Mr Grimm.”

The teacher who had been speaking with Ms Godwin stood and left and Aziraphale struggled to calm his shaking body.

“I just found Gabriel verbally abusing and _assaulting_ Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed, his slender frame trembling with rage, “What are you going to do about it?”

“Outside.” Ms Godwin said bluntly, “Mr Fell take a seat and tell me what happened.”

Crowley left without complaint and Aziraphale sat down, wiping tears off his face. He tentatively touched his head where he hit the wall and was pleasantly surprised to find he was not bleeding, but the skin was hot and sensitive.

“Aziraphale,” Ms Godwin said softly, “Tell me what happened.”

Aziraphale looked up at her, “Crowley just told you.”

“He made a statement,” Ms Godwin allowed, “Tell me your account of what happened.”

“You think he’s lying,” Aziraphale frowned, “Crowley didn’t hurt me.”

“I know,” Ms Godwin said softly, “He’s been gone barely two minutes. We talked about his suspicions as to who has been bullying you. However, I need _you_ to tell me.”

_Verbal abuse and assault_, Aziraphale thought, _Crowley just told me what to say_, “I handed in my coursework and was making my way to the library when… Gabriel attacked me.” Ms Godwin remained silent and unreadable, “He pulled me into the closed toilets. He… he hit me.”

“I can see that,” Ms Godwin said solemnly, “You bruise rather easily it would seem.”

Aziraphale noticed her scepticism, “He usually just shoves me around and verbally torments me. Insults mostly. I… I angered him by talking back.”

“Usually?” Ms Godwin asked, concern creeping into her voice, “How long has this been occurring?”

Aziraphale’s heart dropped, “Over two years. On and off. Sometimes weeks would pass without incident, sometimes only days.”

Ms Godwin sat there thinking about this, “Why have you not told anyone about this? The staff were only alerted through Mr Crowley’s voiced concerns, but you have never reported an incident, not once.”

Aziraphale laughed, it sounded broken and hollow, “Really? This is the first bruise he’s given me. No one would have believed me if I told them I was being bullied by the perfect prefect, the school sports champion, the head boy! Would you have believed me if I came in here, on my own and told you your _son_ was bullying me?”

Ms Godwin’s face dropped.

Aziraphale chuckled, “Crowley may know everyone’s Christian name, but _everyone_ knows Gabriel Harper is your son. You teach under your maiden name, to stop your husband’s politics being openly associated with the school’s practices. I didn’t know your name was Judith, but I know you’re married to the MP Jacob Harper and I know you're Gabriel’s mother.”

Ms Godwin nodded slowly, “Anthony.”

Crowley instantly walked back into the office. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered as he realised Crowley must have been standing right outside the door to be able to hear Ms Godwin softly call his name, and at the same time found himself worrying as to how Ms Godwin knew Crowley was standing just outside the door, and listening to every word.

“Take Mr Fell back to your room,” She instructed, “I would like you both to write your statements and hand them to me in the next day or two. I need to speak with Mr Harper.”

“He’s outside,” Crowley said quietly, “I think I should warn you; I had to hit him to make him let go of Aziraphale.”

Ms Godwin nodded, and raised her voice to near a shout, “Gabriel.”

“Whatever they’ve told you, it’s not true,” Gabriel said instantly as he walked into the office, he had a broken lip, and a bruise forming where Aziraphale’s bag had collided with his head.

“I haven’t told you what they’ve said yet,” Ms Godwin retorted bitterly, what little warmth she had shown Aziraphale had been replaced with ice, “Sit.”

Crowley glared Gabriel down as he kept himself between Gabriel and Aziraphale. He ushered Aziraphale through the door, but a gentle hand made him hesitate at the door. Crowley turned to see Ms Godwin standing behind him, “Neither of you need to attend class today. Keep an eye on him.”

Crowley nodded and left, walking beside Aziraphale as they walked silently back to their room. Crowley silently barricaded the door, dropped Aziraphale’s bag he had been carrying, and pulled Aziraphale into his arms, Aziraphale had been shaking so much, it took him a moment to realise Crowley was crying.

“Hey, Crowley,” Aziraphale soothed, “My love, look at me.”

Crowley shook his head and sobbed against Aziraphale’s shoulder, clutching at his clothes. Aziraphale sighed, breathing in Crowley’s scent and letting himself be comforted by him, even though his heart ached to see Crowley so upset. He gently guided Crowley towards the couch and held him in his arms.

“I’m such an arsehole,” Crowley groaned as he shifted against Aziraphale until they were comfortable.

“What?”

Crowley looked up at him and pulled off his dark sunglasses, to reveal wet, bloodshot eyes, “You were attacked and I’m the one crying.”

“I cried at Ms Godwin,” Aziraphale admitted, “I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck are you sorry about?” Crowley grumbled, “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I didn’t tell you,” Aziraphale whimpered, “And thank you, for rescuing me.”

“He’s never going to touch you again,” Crowley swore, pulling himself closer to Aziraphale, “He so much as looks at you the wrong way and I’ll break his fucking nose.”

They sat there, calming each other, and Aziraphale rubbed circles on the back of Crowley’s neck, “How did you find me?”

“You dropped your bag,” Crowley murmured, tears streaming down his face, “It was just lying there in the hallway, then I heard something in the toilets, sounded like someone throwing a brick at a wall.”

“Just my head,” Aziraphale chuckled.

Crowley frowned, “Would you like me to call Harriet?”

“I don’t think I have a concussion, dear,” Aziraphale reassured him, “He’s not usually violent.”

“Only when you fight back,” Crowley breathed, “Angel, I heard what you told Judith… about this happening for two _years_. Was… was it always sexual?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied quietly, fighting back the tears that were stinging his eyes again, “He’s not very frequent or predictable, and not always… sexual, sometimes he just insults me, but sexuality is the source of it all.”

Crowley bit back tears, but his voice cracked as he forced out the words, “Has it ever been more than… more than touching?”

“No,” Aziraphale whispered, he could feel Crowley crumple with relief, “Never more than touching, and never to… completion.”

“Has he touched you since we got together?” Crowley asked quietly.

“No,” Aziraphale breathed, kissing Crowley’s plaited hair, “That’s why I fought back.”

“You should _always_ fight back, angel,” Crowley retorted, “No one, and I mean _no one_, touches you without permission. Not Gabriel, not some creep at the pub, not even _me_. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” He replied, “I know, I was scared.”

Crowley leaned back and frowned, “This morning… someone tried to get into our room.”

“What?”

“And the night after the play,” Crowley continued, morbidly, “Gabriel was poking his nose in here… he was looking for you, wasn’t he?” A thought flashed across his face then he groaned, “The showers. November, when he was looking for a fucking _watch_. Fuck, I thought I left just after you… I heard _him_ leave and then caught him in the bloody showers when he was looking for _you_.”

Aziraphale said nothing, he had nothing to say. He shifted slightly, holding Crowley tightly in his arms.

“We should go to class,” Aziraphale mumbled, making no attempt to leave Crowley’s warm embrace.

“Nope,” Crowley grumbled, “Judith said we can take the day off.”

Aziraphale nodded and buried his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck, and gently kissed him. Crowley hummed against him, tangling his fingers into Aziraphale’s pale curls, “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not,” Aziraphale insisted, “I never told you, that makes me the idiot.”

“I should have realised sooner,” Crowley grumbled, he pulled himself onto Aziraphale’s lap and kissed his cheek, “I should have done something sooner.”

“You noticed something was wrong,” Aziraphale reassured, “That’s far more than anyone else noticed.”

“That doesn’t make anything about this okay,” Crowley groaned, “When… after the play, did you… I remember asking if you were okay, but… did you ever what me to stop?”

Aziraphale’s heart broke as Crowley struggled to force the question from his throat, he wiped away Crowley’s tears, “I would have told you if I did.”

“Just like you told Gabriel?” He did not mean for the words to come out so harsh or accusatory, but his anxiety and fear was working overtime.

Aziraphale straightened as much as he could with Crowley straddling his lap, “Anthony Judas Crowley, I love you.”

Crowley relaxed slightly, “I love you too, Aziraphale Zachariah Fell. But you haven’t answered my question.”

“I wanted you to kiss me,” Aziraphale whispered, “I wanted to kiss you too. I was nervous and inexperienced, but that did not change the fact that I wanted you.”

Crowley nodded and kissed him, gentle and sweet. Aziraphale pulled him to his chest and buried his nose in his hair. They stayed like that for hours, whispering soft affections and sharing gentle kisses.

“We should get something to eat,” Crowley murmured, “I skipped breakfast.”

“Mh,” Aziraphale nodded, “I overslept too.”

“Come on then,” Crowley mumbled, prising himself from Aziraphale’s grasp, “I am not letting you out of my sight though.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you,” Aziraphale whispered, allowing Crowley to pull him to his feet.


	16. Hopeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale suffers from the dangers of overthinking and Crowley faces the aftermath of attacking Gabriel.
> 
> WARNINGS: Depictions of Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, I've been struggling with a writer's block which has hopefully passed now.

Aziraphale woke to find Crowley coiled around him protectively. They’d spent most of the night entangled with a short break writing up their statements and back to snuggling in Crowley’s bed. Crowley shifted slightly, his long hair falling artfully over his face, and Aziraphale freed a hand to comb through his apple-red hair. Crowley hummed in his sleep, and for a moment, Aziraphale forgot about yesterday morning. It was only a moment.

Crowley deserved the truth, he needed to know why Aziraphale was so timid and uncertain about everything except his love, but Aziraphale feared what Gabriel might do, what Gabriel might figure out, what Gabriel might tell his mother. Gabriel was well-liked, trusted, and admired by staff and students alike, Aziraphale was no one in particular, yet another face in the crowd, rarely seen and certainly not heard. Crowley, on the other hand, had a reputation for bad behaviour that did not lend himself to being trusted or generally believed.

_He can’t risk outing me now_, Aziraphale reassured himself, _he’d need proof._

That did not sit well with him and he found himself thinking of all the ludicrous ways Gabriel Harper might be able to spy on them; from hidden cameras to having his father pay off someone in MI5 to listen to his phone calls. He was being silly, but in the early morning light, he could not help but think of all the ways he might be torn away from Crowley.

He wondered how his mother might react, it was not the first time he had lain awake thinking about the day his mother would find out. He decided that being found out by having a boyfriend was preferable to her finding porn he did not own or from him accidentally admitting to his urges during a heated argument; at least he would have someone who loved him as his world fell apart. He hoped his mother would accept him, but every instinct told him otherwise. He thought perhaps he could accept anger, that he could take her cold rejection on the chin and write her out of his life, but wrath was a sin; she as the sort of woman who would give all her spare change to the man who just tried to steal her handbag. No, she would not get angry, she would cry. She would weep and sob as if someone had just told her that her beloved son had died in a terrible accident. And that would be it, he would be dead to her in the most heartbreaking way.

Aziraphale lay there, listening to Crowley’s gentle breathing as he imagined all the possible ways that Gabriel could ruin their lives. He found himself wondering if Crowley’s family were more accepting; he knew Crowley hated his parents and that they did not know about his sexuality, but he suspected they might have already suspected. His mother would likely forget… that is if she was listening, to begin with. He was certain Crowley’s father suspected given his words during the intermission of the play before the holidays, but suspecting was very different from _knowing_. Aziraphale would struggle with the loss of his mother’s love, Crowley would likely be kicked out onto the street.

Aziraphale gently kissed Crowley’s messy hair, smiling as he snuggled closer in his sleep. Eventually, Aziraphale freed himself from Crowley’s grasp and dressed. He left a note on his bedside table and slipped out into the February morning air and made his way towards the chapel.

‘Chapel’ was really the wrong word. It was a church. It easily seated a thousand individuals but being part of a school, it was called a chapel. Aziraphale pushed against the heavy oak doors and slipped inside. The doors were never locked, and the daily mass would not start for another hour. Aziraphale made the sign of the cross with the holy water before taking a seat the pray silently; the chapel was delightfully empty, but for the school chaplain who was preparing for the mass at eight o’clock. Although Aziraphale liked the solitude, he hated the way the spacious chapel echoed with every footfall.

He knelt and made the sign on the cross again before praying. As usual, he prayed for his mother, his school achievement, and his health. Then he prayed for Crowley, prayed for his health, to bless him with virtues, for his love, and for Crowley to remain by his side through the trials that lay ahead.

He prayed for Gabriel to be forgiven, he could not bring himself to forgive the older boy, not yet, but Aziraphale could not summon hatred for the boy either. Gabriel was confused, and perhaps one day he would figure himself out, and hopefully, he would repent for his sins. Aziraphale feared him and had been hurt and traumatised by him, but Aziraphale believed that if he should seek God’s forgiveness that he would redeem himself. That would be between Gabriel and God, though. Aziraphale would need to think long and hard and be sure Gabriel truly repented before he could forgive Gabriel for his actions. The only thing Aziraphale would do for Gabriel would be to keep Crowley away from him before they both ended up in the local hospital.

*** * ***

Crowley stirred and disappointingly found himself alone. He almost drifted off when the memory of yesterday morning returned to his sleeping mind like a dagger to the heart. He scrambled out of bed in a frenzied panic, trying to pull on his skinny black jeans while attempting to keep his balance. The note caught his eye. Half dressed, he walked towards the table and read the note in Aziraphale’s delicate handwriting;

_‘No need to worry, my dear. I’ve gone to the chapel and taken our statements to deliver them to Ms Godwin. I have my mobile phone with me if you need me. Love you.’_

Crowley sighed as the panic and fear lifted from his body. They had agreed that if Aziraphale was to take a shower in the morning, they would go together. Gabriel was not likely to be so bold after yesterday, but Crowley had worried about it regardless. He unplugged his phone and sent a quick text; _Morning, angel x_

His phone buzzed barely thirty seconds later; _Morning, love x_

Crowley smiled. Phones were not officially allowed, despite all students and staff having them; the fact that Aziraphale had answered so quickly was proof that he was taking this matter seriously. Crowley returned to the task of dressing in his casual clothes at a more leisurely pace. He sauntered across the sports field towards the pool house, fighting with his lighter as he lit his desperately needed cigarette. Aziraphale disliked his smoking habit, but he was far too stressed to quit just yet. He rounded the corner to find Ligur and Hastur sniggering to themselves.

“Hi, guys,” Crowley greeted as he slumped against the wall and breathed in the toxic fumes.

“I heard you walloped Harper,” Hastur giggled, “Would have paid to see that.”

“With what money?” Ligur chuckled before turning his dark eyes towards Crowley, “Dagon said you dragged that fat kid into the headmistress’s office,” Ligur growled, somehow anything he said sounded like an accusation, “Said he was crying.”

Crowley ground his teeth, biting back his anger at Ligur’s comment about the boy he loves, “Gabriel was assaulting him.”

Ligur still looked sceptical, clearly disliking Crowley’s recent change of heart. Crowley wondered what mischievous deed he could do to get him off his case without upsetting Aziraphale.

Hastur, on the other hand, looked mildly concerned, “What happened?”

“Turns out the school’s golden boy is as fucked up as the rest of us,” Crowley admitted, “He hasn’t been bullying Aziraphale. He’s been molesting him.”

Ligur’s jaw dropped, which was an unexpected reaction. Hastur spoke first, somehow finding this information funny, “Shit! That twat has been fucking your boyfriend and you didn’t notice?”

Crowley shot him a dangerous look, that had the mousy-blond promptly shut up, “Assaulting. Not raping. Either way, Aziraphale was certainly not consenting.”

“Want us to kill him?” Ligur asked in a gruff voice and the slightest hint of a smile.

“How are you not in prison for murder yet?” Crowley hissed, trying to dismiss the idea that sounded terribly tempting.

Ligur gave a disappointed grunt.

“So, Harper’s into guys?” Hastur thought, probably the most exercise his brain had had since year nine when he plotted to win Miss Parkes from her obnoxious boyfriend; it did not work.

“Dunno,” Crowley growled, “Don’t care either. Part of me almost hopes that he’s just struggling with his sexuality, and not just using Aziraphale’s sexuality against him. Still disgusting and he deserved getting smacked around the head for it.”

Hastur frowned, “Surely he’s got to be at least _interested_ to touch the guy up. If I was gunna humiliate a guy for being gay, I’d… y’know… ‘out’ him, or redecorate his room with gay porn, or…”

“Alright,” Crowley interrupted, “I get the point.”

“Hm,” Ligur grunted, “I always thought that prick Sandalphon was queer.”

“Never made a move on _Anthony_,” Hastur teased, Crowley shook his head and ignored him.

“Probably because I was glueing his belongings to the ceiling,” Crowley reminded him. Hastur giggled at the fond memories of helping Crowley glue Sandalphon’s coursework to the walls of the school hall as a sort of collage. Sandalphon had done all the work on his computer and therefore had not actually lost any work, but finding his work used as wallpaper had pissed him off to the point where he broke into the hall the night before the GCSE art exhibition and destroyed all of Crowley’s original pieces. Crowley had already been marked on the pieces he had submitted but to see his work destroyed and vandalised, caused him to see red; at which point, Crowley punched Sandalphon, repeatedly.

“If you’re struggling with your own sexuality…” Ligur grumbled thoughtfully, “Could at least choose a hotter target.”

“You know what, _Clarence_?” Crowley warned, he could see Hastur backing out of his peripheral vision, “I don’t like the way you’re referring to my boyfriend.”

Ligur fought to control his vicious smile, “I’m just saying he’s not the hottest kid in this school.”

“Some things aren’t about looks, Clarence,” Crowley growled; Aziraphale was chubby, but he liked him chubby, and he honestly could not understand how no one could see how breathtakingly beautiful Aziraphale really was.

“Right,” Ligur chuckled, “I know you like him for whatever reason, just trying to figure out why _Harper_ likes him. Half the straight guys in this shit-hole of a school would consider fucking Harper.”

“Maybe it’s just a power thing.”

Both Ligur and Crowley turned to face Hastur, who looked rather startled at his own basic intelligence, “Well… Harper’s head boy, he’s always got to be in charge and in control. Always at the top of everything. Maybe he is struggling with his sexuality but doesn’t actually _fancy_ Fell. Fell is just timid enough to stay quiet; controllable.”

“Until he got a boyfriend,” Ligur mused, “Maybe Harper’ll just move on to the next timid queer he can find.”

“Unless…” Crowley thought bitterly, “He’s become a little attached over the past two years.”

“Two _years_?” Hastur chocked, lighting up another cigarette, although this one was filled with greenery from Lucien’s attic, “Bloody hell, your boyfriend’s either a wimp or terrified.”

“I’m just glad Judith’s taking matters seriously,” Crowley mumbled, “Given the allegations are against her own precious son. I can see why Aziraphale never spoke out before.”

Ligur grunted in agreement, which was rare when it came to points made by Crowley, “Most of the quiet ones are too scared to talk back to those twats. What was that girl’s name? The one who accused Michaels or stealing?”

“Abbot?” Hastur offered then frowned, “Nah, Connors, Alison Connors… y’know, the one with the big tits.”

Ligur ignored the comment, “Michaels was stealing her jewellery, and money, and make-up, but none of the staff believed her because her daddy’s rich and she’s the head bloody girl.”

“She wasn’t head girl at the time,” Hastur interjected.

Ligur frowned, “The point is miss-popular against miss-nobody means everything in this bloody school.”

“Yeah…” Crowley grumbled, “And I’m mr-pain-in-the-arse.”

“Hm,” Ligur grumbled, “Guess your rep ain’t much good in this situation.”

“Hey guys,” Crowley didn’t need to turn around to recognise the apathetic tone belonged to Bee. They walked past him to sit on the half wall, followed by Dagon who looked half-dead in the pale morning light.

There exchanged greetings numbly and Crowley checked his phone as he felt it buzz in his pocket. He tried not to smile as he saw Aziraphale’s name and clicked on the message; _Breakfast?_

Crowley looked up to make his excuses only to find Bee glaring at him with disgust as if he were covered in dog shit, “Go. Get your lovey-dovey face out of here.”

“Love you too,” Crowley mocked before turning away and heading towards the dining hall to meet Aziraphale.

“He’s so whipped!” Hastur giggled.

“Can’t understand what he sees in the fat kid,” Ligur grumbled, eyeing Crowley as he walked away with measurable distrust, he turned back to Bee and Dagon, “You hear about Harper?”

Dagon shrugged, “Saw the bruises, but no one seems to know what happened.”

Ligur sneered and began telling them about the fight when Hastur suddenly scrambled to his feet and ran out into the field. The others might have ignored him if they had not caught sight of the same thing Hastur had seen; Crowley was on the ground, and Sandalphon and Gabriel were kicking him.

“Oh, fuck!”

*** * ***

Aziraphale checked his phone; nothing. Crowley had last texted saying he’d be there in a minute… ten minutes ago. He frowned at his phone and played with his food. He was hungry, but there were girls laughing and despite all sense telling him it was about some boy one of the girls liked, he could not shrug the feeling that they were laughing at him.

He sighed and took a sip of his tea when someone ran into the hall and near screamed a fourteen-year-old, “Come quick! They’re killing your brother!”

Aziraphale’s heart dropped as he saw Lily Crowley run out of the hall after the boy. Half of the students in the hall seemed to follow and Aziraphale clicked Crowley’s number, listening to it ring. By the time they all got to the sports field, staff were pulling battered and bruised students away from one another. Miss McFly punched Miss Loquacious-Hodges in their desperation to claw at Miss Gold’s face. Mr Ligur had been tackled to the ground by Mr Shadwell and Mr Sabel. Miss Zuigiber had Mr Sandalphon by his collar, and the two sports teachers were struggling to drag Gabriel and Crowley away from each other.

“What the fuck?!” Lily screamed, rushing to her brother who collapsed to the floor once Gabriel was out of arms reach.

“What is going on here?” Ms Godwin shouted and everyone stopped, with the exception of Ligur who was attempting to crawl out from beneath Mr Shadwell who was currently sitting on him.

“These lunatics attacked us,” Michelle stated flatly, somehow not a single hair was out of place following the fight.

“Lying cow!” Dagon screamed, Aziraphale had not seen them at first, they were sat in the wet grass pitching a bleeding nose.

The students started screaming at each other, Aziraphale resisted the urge to run to Crowley; he desperately wanted to go to him, kiss his bruises and hold him in his arms, but he could do none of that. Instead, Aziraphale watched Ms Godwin take a deep, calming breath before asserting her authority, “All of you are to go to the auditorium. Right _now_.”

The shouting stopped, and the teachers cautiously loosened their grips on their detained students. Crowley started hobbling towards the auditorium first, followed begrudgingly by Hastur and Bee. Ligur was pulled to his feet and escorted toward the school buildings by Mr Shadwell and Mr Sabel who clearly did not trust him to make his way on his own.

“_All_ of you,” Ms Godwin repeated in the same stern tone.

Aziraphale almost smiled as Gabriel’s face dropped, “But I need to see the nurse.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Ms Godwin stated pointedly, she turned her attentions to the teacher inspecting Dagon's nose, “Mrs Whitely, please escort Miss Dagon to the nurse first. I will speak to her once the bleeding has stopped. I’ll send the other in order of priority once I have spoken with them. Please stay in the nurse’s office to keep everything under control.”

Mrs Whitely nodded and guided Dagon, past a gauping Gabriel. Michelle Michaels pulled Uriel to her feet and they followed the others silently. Miss Zuigiber reluctantly released Sandalphon and grabbed Gabriel by the arm before he could argue his point further.

The students began dissipating, and Aziraphale was left numb as he watched Ms Godwin storm furiously towards the auditorium.

“He’s alright,” Aziraphale turned to see Lily standing beside him, looking rather nonchalant compared to the desperation in which she had run from the dining hall, “Bruised and dizzy, but he’s alright. He’s had worse.”

“Worse?” Aziraphale gasped, he could not be sure he had said the word, his mind was spinning, and he felt sick at the thought of Crowley being hurt and certainly could not comprehend anything worse than his current state.

“He got bullied pretty bad in primary school,” Lily muttered, she sounded distant despite being so close, “One kid pushed him, and he broke his arm. He was the skinny ginger weirdo; some things came with the territory.”

“That’s awful,” It didn’t sound right, but his mind was far too preoccupied with worrying about Crowley to get caught up in Crowley’s past. Personally, Aziraphale had glowed through primary school, he had precious few friends he lost contact with, adored by his teachers, and everyone seemed to at least moderately like him; though he suspected his selfless generosity was a large factor in this matter. It was not until secondary school, living with other students 24/7, and realising through puberty that he was gay, that the world suddenly became harsh and painful.

“Meh,” Lily shrugged, “He got back at the kid; knocked out some teeth I recall. Baby teeth, but still painful and a lot of blood.”

Aziraphale frowned and looked at the girl properly, her hair was lighter, closer ginger than red, and in contrast, her brown eyes were much darker than Crowley’s. Crowley always spoke of his sister as if she did not care, but she was exposed, she clearly had strong armour surrounding her heart, but the armour was clearly imperfect and in a moment like this, Aziraphale could see her compassion, “Do you know what happened?”

“Nope,” She shook her head and groaned, “They’re going to call Dad, and then he’s going to get mad… ugh!”

Aziraphale contemplated this, “You don’t suppose he’ll get expelled, do you?”

Lily looked up at him, although she was tall for her age, she still had several inches to catch up to reach Aziraphale. She thought carefully about her words, “No, I don’t think so. Were you in the dining hall?”

Aziraphale gave a small nod.

“Peter, said they were killing my brother,” Aziraphale saw her heart breaking for a moment before her armour hid it away again, “Rather implies they attacked him, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale looked out across the empty field, watching Lily slowly make her way back to her friends. _This is all my fault,_ he thought wretchedly, _Crowley protected me and now they’ve tried to kill him._


	17. Aftershocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ms Godwin tries to remain impartial as she attempts to find the truth behind the fight between Tadfield Acadamy's best and worst students. Aziraphale Fell finally meets Alexander Clarke.
> 
> WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, talk of suicide and hints to self-harm.

Crowley hurt. Everything hurt; his stomach, his face, his ribs, his heart. Aziraphale had looked so distressed, and now it looked like he was finally getting kicked out of school for good. The teachers separated them, Crowley and his dubious friend were ushered to the left-hand side of the auditorium, and Gabriel’s lot to the right.

_She’s taking her time_, Crowley thought to himself as his head started pounding, _probably talking with any witnesses first._

Just as tensions were beginning to get restless, Ms Godwin entered the auditorium and approached the podium, “I am going to ask you each in turn what happened. No interruptions; you will all get your say. Miss Gold?”

Uriel stood, “Michelle, Gabriel, Sandalphon and I were just out for a walk. Gabriel was telling us how Mr Crowley had attacked him yesterday and then he did it again…”

Hastur snarled, but Crowley grabbed his arm, desperately trying to silently tell him to _‘shut the fuck up’._

Uriel continued, “Mr Crowley struck Gabriel and Sandalphon tried to defend him. Then Crowley’s friends intervened.”

Uriel sat back down with a small smile, as the tense wrath from the other side of the room became suffocatingly dense.

Ms Godwin frowned and turned to Crowley and his friends, “Miss McFly?”

“I think it would be best if Hastur explains, ma’am,” Bee stated as politely as they could manage, despite being referred to as 'Miss'.

“Mr Hastur?”

Hastur struggled to his feet, “Crowley was heading back to the school, staring at his phone when Harper and Sandalphon got to him. I’m the only one of us who saw Harper punch Crowley while he was distracted, and when on the ground, both Harper and Sandalphon started kickin' him. I ran out to help him and the others followed. We had barely got the two of ‘em off Crowley when the girls got involved. Understandably they think we attacked them.”

Crowley was surprised at how eloquent Hastur almost sounded, and he could see the effect of the honest admission in Ms Godwin’s eyes. Honesty was something Hastur was known for, but neither was an imagination. Uriel Gold, on the other hand, had won the creative writing contest for the last three years running. Ms Godwin turned to Gabriel, “Mr Harper, which statement is true?”

“Uriel speaks the truth,” He stated as calmly as possible, but there was a flicker of something that could identify the lie, Crowley wondered whether that was why his mother had asked such a plain question.

Ms Godwin asked each in turn, Uriel’s friends all agreed with her statement; Michelle added that Ligur tried to touch her up, despite Ligur not liking girls, and Sandalphon added that Crowley had instigated the fight by swearing abuse before throwing a punch. Crowley and the others agreed with Hastur’s statement; although Bee and Ligur added that they had not seen the initial attack.

After hearing them all, Ms Godwin cleared her throat, “There were independent witnesses to this fight. Several only saw the later stages involving all of you. However, two witnesses had seen Mr Harper and Mr Sandalphon kicking Mr Crowley. Both admitted that they had not seen any interaction preceding this situation, and thus I cannot say for certain what happened. Therefore, you will all receive equal punishment; separately. You will all receive detention on Saturdays and Sundays until such time as I have decided you have all repented for your actions. You will be assigned tasks; litter-picking, dining hall chores, and such.”

LIgur and Hastur groaned, knowing the routine all too well, and Crowley smirked as Michelle and Sandalphon looked at each other in disgust.

“I will also be informing your parents,” Ms Godwin added solemnly.

_Crap_, Crowley thought instantly. Hastur raised his hand, “Miss, my parents are in Israel.”

“Then they shall find a letter waiting for them,” Ms Godwin allowed, she then looked over the students in the hall, “Miss Michaels, you are dismissed. Mr Ligur, you are to be escorted to the nurse’s office.”

Ms Godwin resided over them, as she waited for Mr Sable to return before sending Sandalphon and dismissing Gabriel who was not as injured as he thought. Crowley took out his phone to find several panicked texts and a missed call from Aziraphale;

_Breakfast?_

_Where are you? x_

_Did you get lost?_

MISSED CALL

_Are you alright??_

_Please tell me you’re not getting expelled_

_Crowley?_

_Pick up your damn phone!_

Crowley smiled and started texting a reply when another text came in;

W_ould you like me to call Harriet?_

Crowley deleted his message and started again;

_I’m fine, angel. Waiting to see the nurse. Not sure if I’m getting kicked out or not. I’ll see you soon, love you xxx_

He came out of the thread and saw a few texts from Lily and an unknown number. He opened Lily’s thread first;

_R u ok?_

_Azirafell’s worried about you._

Crowley wrote a shorter reply;

_I’m fine and it’s ‘Aziraphale’._

He looked at the unknown number and reluctantly opened the thread to find a single text;

_I saw Sandalphon attack you. No one ever spoke out when he attacked me, so it was the least I could do for you. I hope you’re alright. Alex._

Crowley smiled and saved the number into his phone and sent back a small _‘thank you’._

“Mr Crowley,” Ms Godwin said quietly while Hastur was distracted, Crowley put his phone away and tried to look casual, “Sorry for delaying you, but I need to speak with you.”

“It’s fine,” Crowley grumbled, the auditorium was darker than the nurse’s office, and the lack of moving meant he was not in too much pain.

“This is the second fight in two days,” Ms Godwin said carefully.

_Oh shit_, Crowley thought instantly, and clearing it must have shown in his exposed eyes. He wished he had a pair of sunglasses to block out the painful light, but they were lying on the field somewhere; cracked and broken.

Ms Godwin offered a small smile, “Although, I am inclined to believe that this fight was a direct result of yesterday, and I do believe you were acting in Mr Fell’s defence yesterday.”

Crowley was surprised, he knew she would take matters seriously, but actively believing Crowley over her son was a lot more that he could have hoped for.

Judith straightened her spine, "Not that I condone this sort of activity. You start causing trouble, and you will be packing your bags."

“So…” Crowley frowned, “You’re not kicking me out?”

“No,” Ms Godwin said softly, “Just try to stay out of trouble until Easter. How is Mr Fell doing?”

_Terrible_, Crowley thought to himself, “He’ll get there. There’s a lot of trauma for him to work through.”

“He left your statements on my desk this morning,” Ms Godwin explained, “He asked that I not tell his mother about the bullying or the bruises.”

“Of course, he did,” Crowley sighed, “His mother’s a nice woman. Loving and trusting, with no idea at all that anyone could dislike her son. And he feels bad enough for not telling me, and we’ve been friends for a few months; he hasn’t told his mother for years.”

Ms Godwin contemplated this, clearly struggling with the dilemma that she should tell Aziraphale’s mother and the fact that Aziraphale has begged her not to.

“You’re just gonna tell my dad, right?”

“Sorry?” Ms Godwin shook herself from her troubling thoughts.

“My dad,” Crowley reiterated, “Don’t bother telling my mum; she doesn’t care, and if she turns up for the emergency parents’ evening, she’ll just find an excuse to start screaming at my dad.”

“Well, your father is your official guardian,” Ms Godwin reminded him, “I’ll inform her of the incident, but there is no reason for her to come to the school for the parents’ evening.”

“Fine,” Crowley surrendered.

“Go on,” Ms Godwin said softly, “Go get yourself to the nurse’s office; please don’t get into any more fights.”

“Try not to,” Crowley groaned as he rose to his feet, he took a moment for the dizziness to pass before limping from the auditorium.

He ribs had calmed to a dull ache when he breathed, but there was now a shooting pain in his right knee, and his hip and lower back ached. He stumbled into the nurse’s office and smirked as Mrs Ormerod glowered at him disapprovingly.

Mrs Brenda Ormerod was a stout woman with a harsh temper and no patience at all, which were odd characteristics in a school nurse. Crowley would not have been surprised if her temper and chastising nature had added the premature departure of her late husband.

Crowley took a seat beside Bee who was holding an icepack to her wrist, while Mrs Ormerod continued interrogating Sandalphon, “What’s the verdict?”

Bee huffed, “A sprained wrist. Mr Shadwell is commandeering a minibus to take us to the hospital.”

Crowley looked over at Dagon and Uriel.

“Dagon’s got a broken nose,” Bee explained, “And Uriel has a small gash behind the ear and a mild concussion.”

“Got off lightly then,” Crowley groaned as the pain is leg set fire to his nerve endings, “Where’s Ligur?”

Bee shrugged, “No idea, he legged it as soon as and Mr Shadwell and Mrs Whitely’s backs were turned. Which was quite impressive, given his concussion and twisted ankle.”

Crowley chuckled and regretted the action as his ribs ached and the vibrations bashing his brain against his skull, “Ow…”

“You alright?” It took Crowley a moment to realise it was Uriel’s voice.

“Yeah…” Crowley mumbled, “Just…”

_Dizzy_, he thought as he passed out.

*** * ***

Crowley woke up with Bee and Dagon laughing and taking pictures, “Not sure what happened, but I hate you both.”

“You’re the one that passed out,” Dagon teased, the blood had been cleaned off their face revealing dark purple circles beneath their pale blue eyes.

“Oh yeah,” Crowley groaned, he sat up realising he had no idea where he was, “Um, where are we?”

“John Radcliffe, Oxford,” Bee explained.

“Anyone else here?” Crowley murmured, trying to get his bearings; _what time is it, where’s my phone, is Aziraphale okay?_

“Hastur is probably drinking coffee or stealing gas ’n’ air,” Bee shrugged, “He broke a couple of fingers. Sandalphon’s got a sprained wrist too,” Bee waved their bandaged wrist, “And he managed to dislocate a finger, but he straightened it on the field. Just got some pain killers and got his hand strapped up.”

“Oh, and Goldie got three stitches,” Dagon added nasally.

“I’m very proud,” Bee smiled.

“And me?” Crowley asked, unable to feel anything beyond the searing pain of the bright hospital lights.

“The doctor’s said that you’ve got swelling around the knee,” Bee murmured, trying to think.

“Knee bursitis,” Dagon added.

“Yeah, that,” Bee grumbled, “Concussion, but I imagine you figured that one out yourself. They did a full X-ray while you were out; nothing broken but breathing is gunna hurt for a while. They want to scan your head though.”

“Yay…” Crowley grumbled, “How long have I been out?”

“ ‘bout an hour, you came ‘round a couple times, barely,” Dagon noted.

He sat up, blinking against the bright light, “Where are my clothes?”

Bee and Dagon laughed at him, Dagon composed themselves first, “They were worried about your ribs given the kicking they got. We stopped Hastur doing anything inappropriate.”

Crowley shuddered, “Where’s my phone then?”

“Your boyfriend called,” Dagon admitted, “We filled him in.”

“And?” Crowley said suspiciously, not trusting either of them as far as he could chuck them.

“And nothing,” Bee sighed, “Though we did read your texts. So sweet.”

“I hate you,” Crowley hissed, rubbing his stinging eyes. He wondered if the headache was due to his the concussion or the lights.

“I’ll tell the nurse, Mrs Whitely and Mr Shadwell that you’re awake,” Dagon said as they handed him his phone and started pulling Bee past the curtain hiding Crowley from the rest of the ward. He unlocked his phone with his fingerprint and checked his texts before calling Aziraphale. He was not supposed to use mobile phones in hospitals, but then he never paid much attention to rules.

The phone rang twice before it was answered, “Yes? Crowley?”

“Hey, angel,” Crowley smiled, “I hear you’ve been worrying.”

“The others were taken to the hospital in a minibus,” Aziraphale said in a flurry, “They took you away in an _ambulance_. I’ve been worried sick.”

“Relax, I just passed out,” Crowley groaned.

“I’ve raised an official complaint with the school governors. Ms Godwin should have instructed all of you to see the nurse immediately. It is honestly disgraceful, and the thought you might still get expelled despite their profession negligence…”

“Angel, stop,” Crowley hushed, “As much as I love you worrying over me. Judith did as she saw fit; I didn’t feel dizzy at first and Dagon was bleeding badly. We couldn’t _all_ fit in the nurse’s office. Besides, I’m not getting expelled.”

“You’re not?” Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley smiled at his audible relief, “Any idea when you’ll be back?”

“Nope,” Crowley sighed, “Hopefully they won’t keep me overnight for observations.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

Crowley chuckled, “Uh, no, kind of passed out. You?”

“Not yet,” Aziraphale murmured.

“I’ll be fine,” Crowley reassured him, “Eat something, stop worrying, and stay as far away from Gabriel as you can.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Crowley said softly, he saw the curtain move, “Gotta go.”

He ended the call and hid the phone as a nurse of some sort returned with Mr Shadwell.

“Hey, Harry,” Crowley greeted with a cheeky grin.

The nurse approached his bed, “Alright Anthony, look here.”

Crowley looked at the pen, his groggy mind not yet catching up with what was happening, he yelped as the nurse shone a bright light at his eyes, “_Fuck!_ Ow! Check my damn medical records next time!”

“Now there really is no need for that language,” He spat bitterly.

“The kid wears sunglasses all the time,” Mr Shadwell noted.

“Photophobia,” Crowley cringed, “And yes, I know I’m not supposed to wear sunglasses all the time.”

The nurse made no apology as he left to find another member of staff. Crowley groaned and rubbed his weeping eyes until they semi-acclimatised to the bright artificial light which was at least dimmer than having torch shoved in his face.

The nurse returned with a woman who appeared to be his superior, “Anthony, is it?”

“Crowley’s fine,” He grumbled.

“I’m Sister Maria Verbose,” She said softly, “I understand you’re suffering from photophobia.”

“Yeah, nothing to do with getting hit in the head though,” Crowley allowed, “Diagnosed as a kid; migraines all the time. Medication wasn’t much good, so I took to wearing sunglasses, and like I told the nurse earlier, I am aware I’m not supposed to.”

“That’s fine then,” Sister Verbose smiled, “We’ve booked you in for a CT scan this afternoon. Have you had anything to eat?”

Crowley shook his head glumly.

“We might be able to push it forward then,” They added gently, “Have you had a CT scan before?”

Crowley shook his head again.

“Alright, what we’ll do is we’ll inject a dye into your bloodstream to help us see if there is any damage to your brain,” She explained clearly, not patronising but not entirely expecting Crowley to understand what she was explaining, “The CT only scans your head, unlike an MRI, but you will need to remain still during the process. Our radiographer will talk to you from the next room with any instructions that they may require.”

“How long will it take?” Crowley found himself asking, anxious to get back to Aziraphale.

“Somewhere between to twenty minutes,” Sister Verbose replied, “You won’t get your results for a couple of days, but we’ll keep in overnight for observation.”

Crowley groaned, “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just leave now then. If I die, I’ll die.”

He was halfway out of the bed when someone stood in front of him, he looked up to see Dr Harriet Dowling, her brow arched with disapproval, “You’re not going anywhere, Crowley.”

*** * ***

Aziraphale was an anxious individual at the best of times but worrying about Crowley had him pacing their room all day, not wanting to deal with people as his heart ached for someone he loved, and not wanting to risk another confrontation with Gabriel. Crowley had called to say that he was having a CT scan and being kept overnight, but that did not stop him worrying. Seeing the others return in bandages and covered in bruises heightened his anxiety.

He sat in their room, numbly watching the rain tap against the window as the afternoon grew dark. It had been such a lovely day, until the fight, the rain had started when the ambulance arrived and gave no indication of letting up anytime soon. It was a little past seven when there was a gentle knock at the door. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered, but when he opened the door, he found a skinny, dark-haired stranger fidgeting nervously, “Is Crowley back yet?”

“Um, no,” Aziraphale answered gently, “Do come in.”

The boy walked cautiously into the room, looking rather lost and confused. His eyes darted around at the books and artwork around the room, it was becoming difficult to tell which side of the room belonged to which student; largely because the room had become _theirs_.

“I’m afraid Crowley’s still at the hospital,” Aziraphale explained, “I’m Aziraphale.”

“Alexander Clarke,” The boy murmured, taking Aziraphale’s extended hand, “I have science with Crowley.”

_The boy contemplating suicide_, Aziraphale realised, Crowley had never told him his name, but Aziraphale could see the way Alex was pulling at his long sleeves and his skittish nature. Aziraphale smiled and offered Alex a seat, “Crowley insists he’s fine, but coming from Crowley he’d say that if he’d had something amputated.”

Aziraphale was not very funny, but Alexander seemed to appreciate the joke, “Yeah, I’d don’t know him very well at all, but he doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who feels sorry about themselves.”

“Although he worries about other people an awful lot,” Aziraphale chuckled, though, in reality, he had the suspicion that Crowley was not nearly as confident as he made out to be.

“What about you?” Alex asked with little confidence.

“What about me?”

“You seem worried,” Alex asked gently, kindly.

Aziraphale sighed, he knew Crowley had come out to this boy, even confessed to Aziraphale in the form of an apology, but the truth stuck in his throat. He was not ashamed of Crowley, nor was he ashamed of his feelings for him, but the prospect of being ridiculed for his feelings crushed him. He took a calming breath and offered a small smile, “Of course I’m worried, six students were sent to the hospital and five have returned.”

“Yeah,” Alex chuckled nervously, “Sandalphon’s more grouchy than usual.”

_Crowley told me about this too_, Aziraphale thought to himself, quickly realising that this boy, who was of an age with Aziraphale but appeared so much younger and more fragile, was not nervous at all; he was afraid. Gabriel had only struck Aziraphale twice, seconds between each assault, but Crowley had seethed for days after finding out Sandalphon had attacked this boy, beaten, bruised, and broken him.

“Well you stay here as long as you like,” Aziraphale smiled, “I could use the company.”

The boy practically glowed and smiled in relief before remembering himself, “I would hate to intrude.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Aziraphale protested, “I’ll only sit here worrying.”

“You’re good friends,” Alex mused, more a fact than a question, “Who’s art is this?”

“Crowley’s,” Aziraphale replied fondly, wishing Crowley were here just to see the glimpse of awe in Alex’s eyes.

“Wow,” Alex glowed, his eyes rested on the drug-induced suicide Aziraphale still kept over his desk, despite Crowley’s protests. Aziraphale liked it, not for the subject as such, but for the pure emotions it evoked. He had picked it out in a dark time in his life, and the first day he met Crowley. Aziraphale had never really contemplated suicide in terms of going through the act of murdering oneself, but that did not mean that the thought of dying had not crossed his mind. His love for his mother, and now for Crowley kept such thoughts at bay.

“I liked that one,” Aziraphale said gently, “In fact, all the pieces are those I chose from his folder. Crowley teases me about it, but…”

“Deep,” Alex sighed.

Aziraphale looked at him, knowing all too well that the sketch was more painful to him, “Sometimes I forget that I’m not braving this world for others. I need to remind myself that I need to brave the world and protect myself… even _from _myself. They tell us suicide is a sin, a crime against God, selfish… but I think it’s the tragedy when someone loses themselves. And it is a tragedy. Oh, dear, are you alright?”

Alex was crying. Aziraphale pulled him into a friendly hug and tried soothing him, “Oh I’m sorry. You’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale led him to the couch and put on the kettle, preparing two cups of instant hot chocolate. Hot chocolate was better with milk, but considering they were not supposed to have a small travel kettle, let alone a microwave or minifridge, he made do. Alexander was wiping away tears and telling himself he was being silly when Aziraphale handed him a mug of steaming chocolate.

“You’re not silly,” Aziraphale reassured him, dragging his desk chair to sit opposite, “I'm sorry for upsetting you.”

“No, it’s alright,” Alex murmured, “Not enough kind words around here.”

Aziraphale offered a warm smile and squeezed Alex’s knee, hoping he thought it reassuring, “Crowley and I will always be here for you. Except, when Crowley’s in hospital for fighting.”

Alex chuckled, then frowned, “Gabriel punched him first.”

Aziraphale nodded, it made sense, then he too frowned, “Wait, did you see the fight?”

Alex nodded, “There were maybe a dozen witnessed, only me and some other kid stepped forward to tell Ms Godwin though. The other kid did not have much to say given he ran off.”

“Peter,” Aziraphale mused, “A student ran to get Lilly.”

“Who’s Lily?”

“Crowley’s younger sister,” Aziraphale answered, “They don’t get along very well. She was in the dining hall, and I followed her onto the field.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know Crowley very well,” Alex mumbled, sipping at his hot chocolate.

“Crowley’s private,” Aziraphale admitted, “But not when it matters. I found out he was pansexual while he was screaming abuse at a ex-lover. He later told me he didn’t like talking about it, but he felt no shame. He doesn’t keep secrets, as such, he just does not advertise every aspect of his life.”

Alex gave him a timid and knowing look.

Aziraphale chuckled nervously, “Yes, I know. Unlike Crowley, I’m a little more… terrified.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Alex reassured.

Aziraphale sighed, “Neither do you.”

They sat in silence, drinking their hot chocolate. A comfortable silence. Aziraphale rinsed out their mugs in the sink in the corner.

“Aziraphale,” He turned towards to boy on the couch, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Aziraphale asked innocently.

“For not judging me,” Alex murmured, pulling awkwardly at the sleeve of his hoodie, “Crowley said it was a cry for help… and I think he’s right.”

“There’s nothing to judge,” Aziraphale sighed, walking back to his chair, “And if you need help, you need only ask. We’re here for you.”

Alexander looked as if he were on the verge of tears again, “Thank you.”


	18. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley returns from the hospital and is forced to partake in a parent and student session to apologise for their actions.
> 
> WARNINGS: Descriptions of injuries

Crowley grumbled his way to his room. He was sore, hobbling along the corridor in crutches, and Harriet lectured him as she drove him back to the school which did not help his headache. He trudged tiredly to his room, sighing as he eased the door open. It was early and he expected Aziraphale to be awake, but inside he found Aziraphale asleep fully dressed on his bed and Alex snoring on the couch.

He stood there and stared, trying to make sense of the scene, before giving up, he shut the door behind him and gently eased his desk to stop any intruders. He set his crutches aside and kicked off his shoes with some difficulty. He then wobbled as he pulled off his muddy clothes before pulling on a baggy shirt and crawly to Aziraphale’s bed.

“Crowley?” He murmured in his sleep.

“I’m so glad you didn’t say ‘Alex’,” He chuckled quietly.

Aziraphale’s eyes flew open, “Oh, thank God… I was so worried.”

“I know, angel,” Crowley whispered, snuggling closer.

Aziraphale kissed his hair gently, “How are you?”

“Eh,” Crowley groaned, “Ribs are purple, knee’s too swollen for my jeans,” He ignored Aziraphale’s gentle chuckle, “No initial sign of trauma to my brain, they’ll call in a day or two with the full results.”

“You need to take care of yourself, dear,” Aziraphale whispered, “I know you did not start the fight, but there are worse things than getting expelled, Crowley. You could have _died_.”

“Bit of an overreaction,” Crowley protested, but actually he had just heard a similar argument from Harriet.

“Yes, you could,” Aziraphale countered, “You could hit the ground wrong, or have internal bleeding, or move after breaking a rib…”

Crowley squeezed as much as his aching body would allow, “I know, angel. I’ll be careful.”

They lay there for a while until a particularly loud snore from Alex had Crowley trying desperately to not giggle, “Okay, why is he here?”

“He was worried about you,” Aziraphale whispered, “And Sandalphon was in a bad mood when he came back from the hospital.”

“Ah,” Crowley allowed, suddenly sobered by the thought.

“Get some sleep dear,” Aziraphale hushed, “You must be exhausted. Hospitals are awful places to sleep?”

“When did you stay in a hospital?” Crowley grumbled, already slipping into the weightless comfort of sleep.

“A long time ago,” Aziraphale whispered, stroking Crowley’s hair gently until they both fell asleep.

* * *

Alexander woke stiffly to find Aziraphale reading and Crowley sleeping on Aziraphale’s bed.

“Hi,” He whispered, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Aziraphale’s ocean-blue eyes darted from the page and looked at him over his reading glasses, “Morning.”

Alex stretched out his tense joints, “I guess I’d better leave you two alone for a while.”

“He’ll easily sleep another couple of hours,” Aziraphale whispered, “Besides, I thought you wanted to talk to him?”

“I was looking for a _friend_,” Alex smiled, “Besides, I need a shower and get changed anyway.”

“Only, if you’re sure,” Aziraphale said softly, “You’re welcome to join us later.”

“Thank you,” Alex smiled, “For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Aziraphale gave him a warm hug before he left.

He folded the blanket he had provided for Alex and sighed at the sight of Crowley. His shirt had ridden up during his sleep, and hints of black and blue bruising could be seen on his lower ribs. He also had a dark circle under one eye, not as black as Dagon’s had been yesterday, but the bruising was apparent all the same. Aziraphale pulled back the bedsheets, there was a bruise on Crowley’s upper hip, peeking over the waistband of his boxers, probably a stray kick that was meant for his ribs. Lower down, Crowley’s right knee was red, and the skin appeared shinny with the swelling. Crowley had mentioned bursitis on the phone, but Aziraphale thought that it was simply bruised, only time would tell. Aziraphale gently placed the pillow Alex had used under Crowley’s knees, elevating them to ease the blood flow to the swollen joint. Crowley grumbled slightly but did not wake.

Crowley whined as he woke up a little over an hour later, “Let me guess… it’s about ten?”

Aziraphale glanced at his watch, “How did you…?”

“Painkillers wore off,” Crowley groaned, struggling to sit up with the pillow beneath his knees, “Pass my bag, would you?”

Aziraphale watched him pull out his prescription, double-checked the dosage and swallowed the pills with some water. He waited, but when Crowley looked like he was about to fall asleep again, he walked over and handed Crowley another small white pill, “You forgot one.”

“I hate you,” Crowley grumbled, swallowing his anti-depressant without further complaint, “Where’s Alex?”

“He needed a shower,” Aziraphale excused, “He might want to meet up later.”

“Was he alright?”

Aziraphale beamed at him, Crowley was black and blue, and yet he was still worrying over someone else, “He should be. Ms Godwin asked me to inform you that the meeting regarding this incident will be at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon in the hall. Your father will be there.”

“Yay,” Crowley groaned, trying to ease himself out of bed, “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Aziraphale stammered, perplexed and slightly amused.

“Your head,” Crowley asked softly, he wobbled on his sore knee, brushing his fingers against the purple bruise at Aziraphale’s temple.

“Sore,” Aziraphale admitted, “And I think I was concussed at the time. Headache didn’t go away until this morning.”

“I thought I should have called Harriet on Friday,” Crowley teased, “I can’t believe you called Harriet while I was in the hospital.”

“I know how you feel about strange doctors, dear,” Aziraphale retorted, “Besides, she told me that she had to force you back into the bed and made you have the CT scan. So, I think I did the right thing.”

“Hm,” Crowley narrowed his eyes, “Once an angel, always an angel.”

“Obviously,” Aziraphale smirked, trying to guide Crowley back to his bed, “You need to rest, you’re barely vertical.”

“Oi!” Crowley protested, grabbing hold of Aziraphale’s wrist and pulling him down with him, "Not my fault you make me weak at the knees.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and eased himself onto the bed beside Crowley, gently cradling him so as to not hurt or discomfort him, “You’re such a bloody flirt.”

Crowley grinned, “Well it works.”

“Shut up,” He whispered, trying to hide his blushing face in the crook of Crowley’s neck.

* * *

Monday afternoon came too soon. Crowley had managed to talk himself out of attending class; he was unable to sit on the stools in art and science with his injured knee, and geography was just boring. Aziraphale walked with him while he hobbled on his crutches towards the school hall for the parents’ evening.

“Behave,” Aziraphale warned, with a shy smile.

“Since when have I ever behaved?” Crowley teased.

“Alright then,” Aziraphale surrendered, “If you can’t be good, be careful.”

“Fine,” Crowley groaned, “Mind getting the door, angel?”

Aziraphale, ever the gentleman, pulled the door and held it open for him to be able to hop through on his crutches.

“See you later,” Crowley said over his shoulder, Aziraphale nodded and closed the door behind him.

Crowley hobbled into the hall avoiding his father’s gaze. He and his friends knew this routine, a sort of group counselling, restorative justice thing; get the victim and the perpetrator in a room to talk things out. They introduced parents to these meetings after Ligur got violent a few years ago. Parents would receive a letter and have a one-to-one meeting with Ms Godwin before the group session.

Crowley sat down awkwardly next to Hastur who was looking a little worse for wear; he had dark circles under his eyes, which were not unusual, but the large white bandage that engulfed his right hand was definitely new.

“Hey,” Crowley grumbled.

“Hey,” Hastur looked at him in surprise, “Heard you got released from the hospital, but no-one’s seen you in days.

“Got back yesterday morning,” Crowley explained bluntly, trying to end the conversation.

Hastur, of course, would never notice something so subtle, “Boyfriend playing nurse for ya?”

“Shut it, Arthur,” Bee warned, they may not have got on well with Crowley’s cheeky personality, but they protected their own, “Don’t want to say anything stupid.”

“Yes ma’am,” Hastur grumbled sarcastically.

“Thank you, sir,” Crowley nodded.

Ironically, Crowley and his friends looked the worst. Dagon’s face was still very purple and her nose very red, Bee had a smaller bandage around her wrist and a bruised jaw. Sandalphon also boasted an bandage for his sprained wrist, and several visible bruises on his arms and face, Uriel’s stitches were visible behind her ear, but otherwise appeared unharmed; Crowley found himself wondering what Bee could have possibly have done to cause such a wound given neither hand much in the way of nails. Gabriel and Michelle looked as pristine as ever, though both looked miserable.

“Where’s Ligur?” Crowley asked suddenly, he didn’t like the prick, but he was part of the gang.

Bee looked worried, “No one’s seen him since he ran off Saturday morning.”

“What?” Crowley hissed, “Anyone contact Lucien?”

Bee gave him a curious look, “I thought you hated Lucien?”

“I do,” Crowley bit back, “But was stalks the woods ‘round here, if Ligur made a run for it I’d have thought Lucien would be his first contact.”

“We tried that,” Hastur murmured, “Lucien didn’t pick up.”

Crowley shrugged, letting it go. He tried to relax until he spotted his dad walking towards him. Hastur and Bee abandoned him awkwardly.

“You look like shit,” His dad stated bluntly.

“Thanks.”

“What did I tell you about fighting?” He growled, “Are you so fucking stupid that you’re just going to throw away your education, your _life_?”

“Technically, I didn’t start this fight,” Crowley countered, “And I’m not getting kicked out.”

“Some of the other parents are insisting,” His father hissed, anger bubbling up to the surface turning his face slowly red, “One of them is bloody MP!”

“I know,” Crowley sighed, “Gabriel Harper’s dad. But Ms Godwin is working on that.”

“Can you all please sit down?” Ms Godwin spoke loudly, indicating to the seats that had been arranged in a semi-circle and they sat with parents separating students. Crowley hobbled over and sat on the end, then his father, Hastur, Ligur’s parents, Bee, Bee’s mum, Dagon, Dagon’s parents, Michelle and her parents, Sandalphon, Uriel and her mum, then Gabriel and his dad. Ms Godwin waited patiently for them all to settle down before speaking, “Good afternoon, I thank the parents for taking the time to come here today. I have spoken to you all regarding the situation.”

“Who was the witness? Was it a friend of theirs?” Someone asked. Crowley didn’t even notice which parent had spoken, but the question seemed to be press on the minds of most of the parents present as thy erupted into similar accusations.

Crowley rolled his eyes and gave Judith a sympathetic look. She demanded silence and control, “There were _several _witnesses, and I am unable to divulge names and I would encourage no one in this room to go searching for them.”

She rattled on, requesting that each of the students apologise, despite all of them maintaining their innocence.

“Anthony?”

Crowley was pulled from his thoughts which he suddenly could not remember, “Yes, Judith?”

Ms Godwin gave him a scolding look, “It’s your turn.”

“Right,” Crowley nodded, “Just an apology, right?”

She nodded.

“Sure,” He straightened and even went to the extent of removing his sunglasses, “Gabriel, I’m sorry I hit you with Fell’s bag on Friday which made you feel the need to beat me up on Saturday. I promise not to hit you again as long as you keep your hands off Aziraphale.”

Gabriel’s dad started cursing and Crowley’s dad slapped him on the back of the head, though not as hard as he could have been.

“Anthony,” Ms Godwin sighed, clearly tired and certainly not in the mood, “Try that again.”

“What?” Crowley protested, “I apologised for hitting him, and promised not to do it again. What more do you want?”

Hastur stifled a snigger and Ms Godwin took a calming breath, “And what of the fight?”

“I didn’t land a single hit,” Crowley countered, “And I’m not ashamed to admit that I got fucking walloped. Oh, no! Tell a lie, I tripped Gabriel up by catching his foot while he was kicking me. Gabriel, I apologise for pulling your foot out from under you and landing your pathetic arse in the mud.”

“So, these are the degenerates you protect in this school?” Uriel’s mother huffed, “Well, my solicitor will be in touch. My daughter will bear this scar for life!”

“I apologised for that!” Bee protested, “The point is, Sandalphon and Harper attacked Crowley, the rest of us were all in the wrong for getting’ involved; whether it was in defence or not, we was hittin’ each other and not pulling them _away_ from each other!”

Uriel sighed, and pulled her mother back to her seat, “She’s right. We should have concentrated on getting Gabriel and George to safety.”

Bee resisted snarling at being called ‘she’ and Hastur turned to Crowley and mouthed _‘George?’_. Crowley shrugged, and stored the information away.

“Thank you, ladies,” Ms Godwin said calmly, Bee shuddered and looked disgusted.

“I’m sorry,” Mr Harper stood, clearly infuriated that his wife had withheld information, “There was an incident on Friday?”

The other parents exchanged looks, and Crowley spoke before Ms Godwin, “Just involving Gabriel, myself, and another boy.”

Mr Harper shot a dark look towards his wife which she let wash over her, “I was going to speak with you and Mr Crowley following this meeting. Anthony acted in defence of another student.”

“Where is he?” Mr Harper asked.

“I could text him?” Crowley offered, he didn’t want Aziraphale near Gabriel but trusted Gabriel enough not to say anything untoward in front of his parents.

Ms Godwin shook her head slightly, “The student involved requested no further action to be taken. And if you were wondering if this boy was a witness, you would be mistaken.”

Mr Harper sat down, and Crowley sucked his teeth, wondering as to why Aziraphale had made such a request, though the fight on Saturday was probably to blame. The rest of the meeting was dull, these sessions never accomplished anything in Crowley’s experience, and he had better things to think about.

Eventually, they were dismissed, and Crowley was surprised to find Ms Godwin walking towards him, “A moment, Crowley. I was wondering if you had any more information regarding Mr Fell?”

Crowley set his crutches down again, “Information?”

“As I said, he requested no further action to be taken against Gabriel,” She said sternly, “An odd request.”

Crowley frowned, “You’re doubting Gabriel?”

“I’m worried about Aziraphale,” Ms Godwin stated, though not dismissing Crowley’s statement, “The coincidence of this fight and Aziraphale’s request following the incident on Friday are too… I think Mr Fell might not have told me everything.”

_Like being sexually molested?_ Crowley thought to himself, but he had a lie to maintain to protect Aziraphale, “He didn’t trust me enough tell me he was being bullied, but I can try. It’ll take time though.”

“Good,” Ms Godwin allowed, she glanced at his visible bruises and crutches, “And I am so terribly sorry about Saturday.”

Crowley shrugged, “If I didn’t know, you couldn’t have known. Dagon might have bled to death.”

“Still unacceptable,” Crowley’s father grumbled, Crowley thought it strange from the man he had slapped his head not too long ago following a head injury.

“I assure you, sir,” Ms Godwin said politely, “A formal complaint has been lodged.”

_Yep,_ Crowley thought guiltily, _by Aziraphale._

“Well I hope something is done about it!”

Crowley’s dad stormed off and Crowley stared in confusion, he turned to look at Ms Godwin who looked miserable, “Maybe he’s hoping for compensation. It’s certainly not that he cares about me or my cranium.”

Ms Godwin offered a small smile, “Go on, I have other angry parents to deal with.”

“Good like with your hubby,” Crowley said quietly, poking at her charade.

Ms Godwin rolled her eyes, “I’ll deliver a letter in the morning outlining your weekend detentions; you’re marking essays and filing.”

Crowley tilted his head in confusion, “Marking them? Think I’m smart enough for that?”

Ms Godwin frowned, “Mostly, I was thinking it does not involve standing or walking.”

“Fair,” Crowley nodded, glaring at his swollen knee; he had been talked into wearing his P.E. shorts as his jeans and trousers were too tight for the swelling, the knee itself, was wrapped in a supportive bandage.

“Gabriel will be in solitary confinement,” Ms Godwin confirmed, “He’d spin manual labour into a sob-story, and I don’t want to run the risk of another incident like Friday.”

“Thanks,” Crowley said rising to his unsteady feet, “I’ll try getting to class tomorrow.”

Unsurprisingly, Crowley’s father was tearing shreds off Michelle’s father for the treatment of his ‘beloved’ son. Crowley rolled his eyes and began hopping towards the door when someone stopped him. He turned to find Ligur’s mother, a tall and proud woman, with a rich, dark complexion, and an expression that was more annoyed than worried regarding her son’s whereabouts, “Have you heard from Clarence?”

Crowley shook his head, “I got back yesterday and spent the day in my room resting,” _Snuggling with my boyfriend_, he thought fondly, “Hastur is closer with him though, he might know something.”

She turned to walk towards the gangly blond when Crowley’s anxiety bubbled up in his chest and suddenly, he was talking again, “Have you reported him missing?”

Mrs Ligur turned slowly and shrugged, “He’s eighteen, with a history of running off and bad behaviour. The police stopped listening when he was thirteen.”

“I hope he turns up soon,” Crowley offered as a form of comfort, he did not doubt that any trouble Ligur found himself in would be of his own making, but he knew that his parents needed support. He might have said he would pray for them and Ligur’s safe return... if he had faith.

Mrs Ligur smiled, not missing Crowley’s meaning and thanked him for his thoughts and concerns. He watched her approach Hastur who had nothing more to say than Crowley had.

He watched them all for a moment, the rich parents pretending to love their children, and the rebellious teens trying to dismiss their controlling parents. _At least my parents don’t lie, coddle, or control me_, Crowley thought to himself, realising that his life could be slightly worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first secondary school (I left when I was 13) had a 'Restorative Justice Programme' which was useless (I was the victim and some cases there was too much history with the other pupil). Sometimes it can work in actual criminal cases, but I find it a terrible waste of time regarding school fights, or issues when the perpetrators have no guilt in the matter.
> 
> The trouble with school fights has always been 'who hit first' and in this case, case I felt there was no way for certain Ms Godwin could make a solid judgement either way and therefore punishing them all.


	19. The Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ligur returns to Tadfield Academy and Ms Godwin has a proposition for A. J. Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! Honestly, this chapter did not take a month to write, but I have had to make some decisions as to how this story will progress... meaning I have had to start planning the sequel. Hopefully, the flow should pick up again from here.

Aziraphale stood on the field awkwardly. He hated sports, and messy violent sports were worse. Worse still, Crowley was sat on the side-lines, pretending to read his textbook. Aziraphale tried to ignore him as their teacher divided them into two teams.

“Watching your angel getting his arse whipped?” Hastur asked as he sat beside Crowley. For some reason, they still had to be present during class, and although they usually skipped class anyway, Crowley felt like watching the sports, and Aziraphale.

“He’s stronger than he looks,” Crowley countered, “Why are you here?”

“Bored,” Hastur shrugged, it had been over a week since anyone had seen Ligur, and Crowley could feel the tension.

Hastur's fingers would take another few weeks to heal, and although the swelling in Crowley’s knee has gone down, his knee still pained him, and his ribs were still bruised.

“I dunno,” Hastur said thoughtfully, “He doesn’t look like a rugby player somehow.”

Crowley chuckled, Aziraphale had all the uniform and none of the demeanour usually found on a rugby pitch. He stood impeccably straight and proper, shifting awkwardly as the other boys got themselves more worked up and excited as they divided into teams. Crowley didn’t understand sports, never cared enough to pay attention, and although he did not understand the rules of rugby, he was utterly engrossed.

Aziraphale took his position and the game began, someone kicked the oblong ball, and everyone ran. The athletic types were more into it, and Aziraphale and a few others hung back. It was quite boring really, although Crowley found himself delightfully distracted by Aziraphale’s shorts, that was until someone on the opposite team decided to run for a try. Crowley had not thought Aziraphale was paying attention, and certainly not intending to get involved. Suddenly Aziraphale turned and tackled his classmate into the mud. They struggled for a moment while Aziraphale knocked the ball out of the other’s grip and they tossed it aside to his teammate. Crowley watched Aziraphale stagger to his feet and help the guy he had tackled; breathing heavily and now covered in mud.

It took him a moment to realise Hastur was laughing and clapping, “Holy shit! Your boy sure is full of surprises!”

“Uh-huh,” Crowley nodded, still a little dazed.

Hastur playfully punched his arm, “This might be more fun than I’d hoped!”

Crowley simply nodded; his eyes glued on Aziraphale.

The blond beside him groaned, “Please tell me you don’t have a hard-on.”

Crowley glowered at him, “Shut up.”

Despite his words, he shifted uncomfortably and turned his gaze back to the field rather than his utterly forgotten textbook. Aziraphale did not get too involved in the game but should any unfortunate soul attempt to run past him, they would find themselves roughly tackled to the ground and suddenly lacking an oblong ball.

When class was called to an end, Aziraphale was smothered in sweat and mud and Crowley had not done any reading at all. He slowly got to his feet, still using a crutch to steady himself on his aching knee when he saw their sports teacher approach Aziraphale. He was too far away to hear, but the startled expression on Aziraphale’s face suggested it was some form of sporting proposition to join the school team. Aziraphale shook his head adamantly and their teacher was left disappointed.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley grinned, “Would a strong young lad, such as yourself, be willing to help an old cripple back inside?”

“Shut up, Crowley,” Aziraphale said grinning just as bright as ever. He had taken his gum-shield out in order to talk to their teacher.

“What did old Kevin want,” Crowley watched as Aziraphale translated ‘Kevin’ as being the sports teacher with some a small amount of amusement.

“He wanted to know if I would want to go to rugby training on Saturdays,” Aziraphale answered as if it were the most absurd thing he had ever heard.

“What did you say?” Crowley probed, hobbling to keep up with Aziraphale, suddenly realising how the blond felt when he walked too fast.

“_No_! Obviously,” Aziraphale answered.

“Pity,” Crowley said with a shrug, “Rather enjoyed watching you out there.”

“Tackling other men?” Aziraphale tried to retain his inner calm, despite his cheeks turning redder as his body started cooling down after the exercise.

“You can tackle me anytime you like,” Crowley said sensually; half teasing and half dead serious.

Aziraphale’s blush darkened and he stifled nervous laughter, “Stop it.”

“Why?”

Aziraphale side-glanced him playfully while sounding ever so serious and composed, “I’d only put you back in the hospital, dear.”

_That should not sound so hot_, Crowley thought to himself, he took a shaky breath and attempted a coy smile, “I might not complain.”

Although he loved how Aziraphale’s moderate flirting made his blood run so hot he could feel his bones scalding, he took an odd amount of joy in watching Aziraphale squirm, “W-What?”

Crowley leaned close, almost close enough to kiss, “I like you nursing me.”

He hobbled away, leaving a muddy Aziraphale standing flustered and breathless. Crowley walked on, smirking to himself when a sudden shriek stopped him in his tracks.

Aziraphale was on the floor, and Ligur was laughing manically.

“Ligur!” Crowley yelled, others got to Aziraphale before Crowley could, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Ligur stumbled to his feet, and Crowley instantly realised he was drunk and possibly high.

“Ow,” Aziraphale grumbled, he’s been tackled on tarmac which must have hurt, but he appeared unharmed as he pulled himself to his feet.

The commotion grabbed Hastur’s attention and proceeded to attempt to attack Ligur despite his own injuries, “Where the _fuck_ have you _been_?! You fuckin’ prick!”

Hastur was spindly and weak, but Ligur was clearly very drunk. It was not much of a fight really, although the teachers and spectating students would claim otherwise. Hastur slapped and wrestled with Ligur shouting at him for running off without causing any actual harm to himself or his best friend.

Aziraphale rubbed his shoulder and stood beside Crowley, “Are you alright, angel?”

“Fine,” Aziraphale said not entirely convincingly, “Just glad he wasn’t on the pitch.”

Crowley gave a half-hearted snigger, never taking his eyes off Ligur and Hastur scrabbling on the ground, “That’s true enough.”

Ligur was dragged off, stinking of booze and slurring his words. Hastur was dragged off too, but he went willingly just so he could continue pestering Ligur. Crowley hobbled after Aziraphale, who collected his clothes and discretely left for the gym showers down the corridor rather than using the boys’ changing room showers.

He sat down and set aside the crutch he was still using. Although he still limped a bit and his knee twinged when he walked too much, he did not really need the crutch anymore, but it got him out of doing things he didn’t want to and he got a surprising amount of joy from poking people at a distance. He watched Aziraphale peal off his muddy clothes, he was still self-conscious about his body, but he was getting better at letting Crowley appreciate it. He stood and walked carefully towards Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around his soft middle and kissed his bare shoulder.

“Crowley,” He sighed, “Someone might walk in.”

“I know,” Crowley reluctantly let him go and sat back down, “You’re just too good not to touch.”

“Later, dear,” Aziraphale promised, stepping into the shower and turned on the water. Crowley heard his voice, but could not discern the words, “Sorry, what?”

“I said,” Aziraphale half-shouted, “At least we know Ligur’s alright.”

“If being stoned counts as alright,” Crowley shouted back, “He’ll be lucky if Ms Godwin doesn’t send him away in a police car.”

“What was wrong with him?” Aziraphale shouted over the sound of rushing water.

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Drink and drugs, love.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale squeaked, he had seen people drunk last Halloween, but Ligur had not been drinking. Ligur was the grumpiest and most sinister person Crowley had had the misfortune to meet, but a few drinks and a few illicit chemicals and he was the giggliest idiot in the room. Although Crowley also knew that too many drinks made Ligur unbelievably violent, which was why he was often on baby-sitting duty during social events.

“Where do you think he’s been?” Aziraphale asked as he switched off the shower.

Crowley puffed, “With Lucien in some love-shack somewhere.”

Aziraphale opened the cubicle door slightly, “They’re sleeping together?”

“They were the last I heard,” Crowley shrugged, trying to get a peek at Aziraphale’s wet skin.

“Huh,” Aziraphale frowned, “Would you be so kind as to pass me the towel?”

Crowley grabbed the soft blue towel and limped to the shower cubicle, “Only if I get to touch you.”

Aziraphale peaked around the door, “Only if you behave.”

They returned to their room sometime later, and Aziraphale insisted on getting changed out of his uniform which led to further distraction. Aziraphale scowled as Crowley popped every button on the shirt he was trying to do up, “Really, dear? Can you stop?”

Crowley made a whining sound, “But you’re so soft.”

Aziraphale blushed and pulled the redhead into a warm embrace, his fingers tracing lightly over Crowley’s ribs, “Let’s see dear.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “You saw them last night, angel. And this morning.”

Aziraphale was already hitching up Crowley’s shirt to inspect the yellowing bruising around his ribs. Crowley distracted himself by playing with Aziraphale’s curls, a slight pink tint hinting at the bruise on his temple. Aziraphale gently kissed his chest, his fingers brushing over the rise and fall of his ribs under his tight skin, “Oh my poor darling, does it still hurt?”

“Not when you do that,” Crowley purred, his ribs did not hurt much at all anymore, just his knee, but Aziraphale loved to dote on him and Crowley basked in it.

Aziraphale chuckled quietly and kissed Crowley’s cheek, “Come on, dear. We should get something to eat.”

Crowley groaned, “I can think of several things I would rather be doing with my mouth, angel.”

Aziraphale burned bright pink and scrambled for words, “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Crowley teased, backing away and perching on the edge of Aziraphale’s bed. He watched Aziraphale finish dressing, “Oh! Did I tell you Marj is petitioning to have select students showcased at The Ruskin? Part of some charity sale.”

“Really?” Aziraphale almost glowed with excitement, “That’s a wonderful idea!”

“She dreams, anyway,” Crowley grumbled, “I only know ‘cause…”

Aziraphale stopped, looking at the redhead curiously, “Because?”

Crowley huffed, he was excited, but also so very terrified, “She wants my pieces of crap to be the main focus.”

“Pieces of-? Crowley!” He was astonished and awfully insulted as if Crowley had insulted him and not his own work, “Your art is wonderful dear! Don’t you _dare_ demean yourself and your creations!”

“You’re sexy when your angry, angel,” Crowley chuckled.

“Is that why you wind me up so much?” He retorted, placing a gentle kiss on Crowley’s cheek, “Someone’s calling you, dear.”

“Huh?” He gave Aziraphale a dazed look before registering his words and glanced at his phone which was vibrating dangerously close to the edge of his desk. He caught it an answered without glancing to at the caller ID, “Hello?”

“Hello, Anthony.”

Crowley frowned, “Judith? How’d you get my number?”

“I have my methods,” Ms Godwin said flatly. Crowley glanced at Aziraphale who was given him a curious look, “I would like to speak to you later, in private. Get some dinner and come to my office before eight.”

Crowley weighed up his options, “Fine, see you later.”

He ended the call and frowned.

“Was that Ms Godwin?” Aziraphale asked a little perplexed, “What did she want?”

“She wants to talk, after dinner,” Crowley shrugged, “No idea why.”

“up to no good as usual,” Aziraphale teased, “Come on, we’d better get you something to eat and then you can find out.”

They walked to the dining hall together, dinner and lunch were the busier times and Aziraphale tended to need a little more time to prepare himself for the chaotic mayhem they resided within. Crowley gave Aziraphale a reassuring smile before holding the door for him and they entered the hall together. They grabbed some food, apparently, the only options were vegetarian curry and roast chicken. Crowley grabbed a small bowl of curry and scooped extra vegetables onto Aziraphale’s plate when he was not looking.

“Will you stop?” Aziraphale hissed as several peas fell on the floor where Crowley had missed, “You’re impossible!”

Crowley cackled, “Well if I have to suffer food, so do you.”

“I have food on my plate!” Aziraphale retorted, waving his overflowing plate in Crowley’s face, “You have half a bowl.”

“It’s a full bowl,” He mocked.

“A _dessert_ bowl,” Aziraphale pointed out, “That’s for the yoghurt. It’s half the size of the bowls for the curry.”

“Spoilsport,” Crowley grumbled.

“Hey guys,” They both turned to find Alex Clarke standing awkwardly behind them, “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Sure,” Crowley shrugged, “You understand any of that bullshit Alli was spouting yesterday?”

“Not a clue,” Alex chuckled, “Hope it’s not in the exam.”

“Same,” Crowley laughed, not that he would admit it, but he was getting surprisingly good grades in his mock-papers and homework assignments. Watching his boyfriend study had the side effect of Crowley participating in the study sessions.

“I’m sure you’ll both be fine,” Aziraphale said reassuringly, “Perhaps you should join us in the library sometime?”

“And watch me drool?” Crowley whispered with a devilish smirk.

“Oi!” Aziraphale snapped while Alex started laughing.

They found a table where they were quickly joined by Anathema and Newt. Anathema plonked herself down beside Crowley pushing her boyfriend towards the seat beside Alex, “Hey guys, long time no see. Where’ve you two been anyway? You’ve missed the main auditions for the Easter play.”

“There’s an Easter play?” Crowley asked Aziraphale.

He nodded, playing with his food rather than eating it, “Yep, always the same; death and resurrection of Christ. Not sure why they bother getting different students to write the script each year. Not much in the way of leniency or imagination.”

“You’re part of the drama society?” Alex asked and suddenly Anathema seemed to notice his existence.

“Oh, well, yes!” She beamed at him, startling the older boy slightly, “Although I think we should focus more on the sexist morals and demonisation of women. Aziraphale wrote the Christmas play this year. Crowley was the Serpent making him part of the drama family.”

“Oh!” Alex smirked, “Thought he looked familiar, didn’t you knock yourself out in the evening performance?”

“Only bashed my head,” Crowley grumbled, “Fell out of the damn tree.”

“So…” Anathema said purposefully, “Any plans for Valentine’s?”

Aziraphale face burned and Crowley chocked on his drink, “Damn, Annie! There’s no subtlety with you, is there?”

“Call me ‘Annie’ again,” Anathema warned, “And you find a not-so-subtle shoe in your crotch, Tony.”

“You don’t scare me, little girl,” Crowley taunted.

“Children, stop,” Aziraphale tutted.

“I wouldn’t,” Newt offered meekly, “Anathema and Lily have detention this Saturday for a catfight.”

“Really?” Crowley said, relaxing from his defensive stance and clearly impressed, “How are the scratches?”

“Sore,” Anathema allowed, “I threw a dictionary at her.”

“Why were you fighting?” Aziraphale asked, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“I told her she was a stupid chav,” Anathema shrugged, “She was objectifying boys in our class. She then insulted Newt.”

“Fought my sister and lived,” Crowley smirked, “Alright, you’ve earned my respect… even if you are cursed.”

*** * ***

Crowley took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Crowley opened the door and eyed Judith Godwin suspiciously, “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” She smiled, “Please sit, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Crowley watched as she finished tapping at her computer and eventually turned her attention to the boy opposite, “Clarence Ligur returned to the school today.”

He thought it was rhetorical, but the silence clung in the air, “Yep. Rugby tackled Fell, quite funny actually.”

Ms Godwin scowled, which she often did while thinking, “Drunk.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, “What do you want?”

Ms Godwin sighed, “You’re not like Mr Hastur, Miss Mcfly or Miss Dagon. You have a sense of morality your friends lack,” She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk and her most serious face, “I want to know who is supplying my students with alcohol and drugs.”

_Crap_, Crowley thought instantly.

“You know who is supplying these things,” Ms Godwin stated flatly, “You’ve been caught drunk, and smoking. The difference is that this is the first time I have had to deliver a student to their parents with cocaine smeared across his nostrils.”

“Point taken,” Crowley shrugged.

“Crowley,” Ms Godwin said in a warning tone, “Just a name, that’s all I want.”

“You’re actually asking me to snitch?” Crowley half laughed, “I may have dubious morals, but I also have a sense of loyalty.”

“Don’t be stupid, Anthony,” Ms Godwin sighed, “You are not in any trouble, but this needs to stop before someone gets hurt.”

“Yeah, except _I’ll_ get hurt when _they_ bloody find out,” Crowley protested. He could see it all, they’d beat the crap out of him if they got the slightest hint that he was selling them out, worse still they’d beat the crap out of Aziraphale as well as emotional insurance so as to stop him doing it again. Not that he had any evidence anyway, just his word.

“Nothing will happen, Anthony,” Ms Godwin tried to reassure him, “I just need to know who and put a stop to it.”

“How?” Crowley snapped, “How do you plan on stopping this? You can’t go to the police without evidence. You’ll, what? Write a strongly worded letter to their parents? Give them detention? Assuming the supplier’s a student, of course. What if they’re not a student?”

Ms Godwin sighed and straightened in her chair, “They’ll never know who blabbed.”

Crowley was laughing now, “Oh, of course, they’ll know! There’s only a handful of us involved and as you so rightly pointed out; I’m the one with the sense of morality.”

“At least think about it, Anthony,” Ms Godwin stressed, “This is very serious. If this continues, I will have no choice but to orchestrate a raid on all dorm rooms, those found in possession of contraband will be expelled and likely arrested.”

“Do that then,” Crowley said bluntly, rising to his feet, “Keep me out of it!”

* * *

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley sulked into their room and barricaded the door, “What did Ms Godwin want?”

“She,” Crowley sighed, “She asked me to snitch on Lucien.”

“Is that bad?” Aziraphale asked, setting aside his book and reading glasses, turning his attentions to Crowley.

“It’s bad,” Crowley groaned as he collapsed on his bed, “The others are hooked, and they’d fucking kill me if they found out I talked.”

“Does it have to be you?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley turned to face him, trying to read his perfectly trusting angelic face, “If you talked, they’d know I told you. I could never see you get hurt because of me.”

“Well,” Aziraphale thought for a moment, “What about Mrs Tracy?”

Crowley chuckled, “She’d lose her job, and although she might suspect, she doesn’t actually _know_ how we’re getting the smokes and booze.”

Aziraphale scowled, “What does she intend to do with this information? Would she want you to testify in court? Help send Lucien to prison?”

Crowley could see that Aziraphale favoured the idea as much as he did; Lucien as a piece of shit, he had hurt Crowley, poisoned other impressionable youths, and enjoyed utilising illicit substances to get laid, but it would put Crowley in danger to attempt to testify against him. Even if Crowley only came forward about the drugs and alcohol, there was no logical reason to expect Lucien to keep their sexual history out of it. He would be expelled from school for homosexual relations for a start, then he would have to face his family, the humiliation of divulging person information to strangers, his friends would hate him and likely wish him harm for betraying them. Then, to top it all off, there was the risk that Lucien would not go to prison and then Crowley would be forced to look over his shoulder in fear that Lucien would take his revenge.

“I don’t know,” Crowley sighed, “Maybe nothing. She thinks it’s a student, maybe even suspects a member of staff. What can she do against an ex-student?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aziraphale decided, having weighed up the options in his mind. Then he fluttered with a new idea, “Is there anyone else who knows? Who could know and… I don’t know, give Ms Godwin the information anonymously?”

Crowley tilted his head in a sarcastically bewildered fashion, showing both his annoyance and amusement, “Really, angel? An anonymous tip? Only the five of us deal with Lucien. Dagon sells smokes on the side to other students.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale sighed and sat beside Crowley on the bed, “Quite the dilemma. Do the right thing or lose everything.”

“Well…” Crowley smirked, snaking his fingers into Aziraphale’s hand, “Not _everything_.”

Aziraphale smiled such pure joy that put the sun to shame and kissed him chastely, “I love you. And I will support you.”

“My angel,” Crowley said snuggling up to him. The feeling in his gut did not sit easy with him; he felt like a coward.

“There’s no shame in self-preservation dear,” Aziraphale whispered, reading Crowley’s mind.

_He’s getting good at that_, Crowley thought to himself. He lifted his head from Aziraphale’s shoulder, “I know.”

“I want you safe,” Aziraphale sighed, “Just promise you’ll keep yourself safe.”

“I promise,” Crowley whispered, “Will you do the same?”

“Of course I will,” He smiled, “I will not let Gabriel hurt me, and you will protect yourself from Lucien.”

“I love you, angel,” Crowley said with a smile before kissing Aziraphale.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Influences from this wonderful fic by slow_burn_sally:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/20891441/chapters/49659668  
(Highly recommend! Please read the tags and warnings)


End file.
